


The Time Traveler's Husband

by Lyss2011



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Time Traveler's Wife Fusion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Time Travelling Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22340092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyss2011/pseuds/Lyss2011
Summary: “Hi, what’s your name? My name is Harry.”Draco raises an eyebrow. “You know who I am.”Harry still looks confused, looking around Draco’s bedroom. “Have I visited you before then?”Draco rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”Or, the one where Harry time travels and falls in love with Draco. Except it's always a little more complicated than that.        WIP
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Other Background Relationships - Relationship
Comments: 53
Kudos: 197





	1. those who love us never really leave us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a big WIP and I'm mostly posting this first part early so I can organize what I have written and not have it go away like drafts do. I have a lot of stuff written for it but because it's a time travel fic and I'm me, I want to make sure what I've written is as in character as possible given what's happening in each character's lives at every point. So, sorry in advance for that.
> 
> Also, I don't own the characters or the dialogue that I've used from the books/movies.

_6 November, 1982. Privet Drive_

Harry Potter stirs in his crib, letting out a small whine. His aunt looks over from the adjacent crib in annoyance, trying to calm her own child. She never expected this, she never wanted this - this other child who will have magic. Who has torn down her illusions of a perfectly normal life by showing up on her doorstep. 

With a soft pop, the whining stops, and Petunia smiles. "Just a bit of gas," she murmurs as she walks Dudley over to the second crib. 

Except when she looks inside, the boy is gone. 

As much as she has tried to repress her knowledge of the magical world, she knows that disappearing babies are abnormal, even among witches and wizards. Lily certainly never disappeared when they were children.

Dumbledore will know what to do, she thinks, and adds hopefully, _and maybe he can take him back_ , but she has no way to contact him. From what she’s gathered from Lily’s excited rambles, wizards travel through fireplaces or thin air, and her fireplace is fake. She could send him some post but she doesn’t have his address, and she doubts they use the Royal Mail. 

So she sits in the rocking chair with Dudley, waiting for something to happen, and praying the boy will remain wherever he is.

It's only about fifteen minutes later when Petunia hears another soft popping noise coming from the second crib. She gets up, reluctantly putting Dudley back in his crib, and sees that her nephew has returned. He seems fine, if mysteriously sticky, so she puts the incident firmly out of her mind and goes downstairs to make dinner before her husband comes home.

\--- 

_2 May, 2064. Grimmauld Place_  
 _Harry 1, Draco 84_

Harry appears on a crushed stone covered path, surrounded by roses and partially bordered by hedges. He sits up and looks around, pleased at the fresh air and sunshine that now surrounds him. 

There are footsteps, and then an old man with dark robes and wire rimmed glasses is staring at him from down the path. 

"Harry," he murmurs, and Harry picks up a handful of rocks to present to this new adult. He's seen a lot of new adults in the past week, and this one seems nice. 

"No no no, love," the man says, swooping in to pick him up. 

Harry obediently drops the white rocks and instead grabs hold of the man's matching silver-white hair. Up close, the lines on his face stand out, and Harry traces them with his free hand, his bright green eyes focused on his task. 

"Let's get you something else to eat, hm? I believe we have some treacle tart, that's your favorite. It's a lot of sugar, but I won't tell. It'll be our little secret.

"After all," he continues as they walk through the gardens, "I know what your family's like, and we don't want you to waste away, do we?"

Harry's small fingers trace the man's lips as he talks, and the man breaks into a watery smile.

They've almost reached the house when Harry lets go of the man's hair and hugs his neck. 

"T-thank you, love" the man says, patting him on the back. "You always did know just what I needed, didn't you?"

"Muah," Harry says, pressing a wet kiss to the man's already wet cheek. 

"I love you too." The man's voice breaks and his hands tremble as he turns to bury his face in Harry's wild soft hair. "So very much."


	2. it matters not how someone is born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A selection of Harry's visits to Draco as Draco is growing up, from Draco's point of view.

_14 October, 1986. Malfoy Manor  
Harry 22, Draco 6_

Draco Malfoy is busy practicing writing his letters in his room when he hears a soft popping noise behind him. He looks up, eager to be distracted from the work his tutor has set him. There is a man in odd clothes standing in the middle of his bedroom, his wand drawn and a shimmering shield around him. He doesn't look scary or angry though, and when he sees Draco he drops the shield and puts his wand away with a smile.

“Hello, Draco,” he says, walking towards him. “What are you up to today?”

This makes Draco scared, although he tries not to show it. _Never show weakness,_ his father says. But no one has ever apparated into his room before, besides the house elves and Harry, and Harry hasn’t visited in forever. And this stranger is acting like he knows Draco, when Draco has never seen him before in his life.

“I’m old enough to call the house elves now,” he warns. “And my parents are just outside that door.” He brandishes his quill like a wand, pointed at the intruder menacingly, although the shaking in his hand ruins the effect. “Who are you?”

“Oh,” the man says, and stops, running a hand nervously through his messy black hair. “This must be the first time,” he mutters to himself. Draco takes the opportunity to memorize his face and any other defining features, in case he needs to describe him to the Aurors later. His hair is long, longer than Draco’s at any rate, and some pieces stand up like he’s just been out in a wind storm. He wears round, wire-rimmed glasses and his eyes are extra green, just like Harry’s. He's not wearing robes, and his trousers are rough looking and blue. He's wearing house slippers and something that could be a pajama top. It should be very distinctive if the Aurors need to catch him later. Draco feels he could describe him perfectly because-

“You look like Harry,” Draco blurts out.

The man looks at him, confused. “I _am_ Harry.”

“No you’re not.”

“Okay then, who’s Harry? Is he older than me?”

Draco rolls his eyes. “No, he’s younger than me. Sometimes he shows up during playtime, but he always disappears before Mum- Mother and Father come in.”

The man raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t realize--Well, my name is Harry too, and I’m going to be visiting you for a bit, just like the other Harry did.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m a time traveler. I travel to different places and times, and in my timeline, I’ve already visited you a few times.”

“Time travelers are only in books,” Draco responds. He knows the truth now that he is older; Father had told him last year. "Everyone needs time turns to do any kind of time travel."

“Not true,” Harry says. “There aren’t many of us but we definitely exist. And I don't have a time turner on me, see?”

“Hmph. Well then what year is it where you come from?”

“2004.”

“No way! You’re from the future! That’s so cool! Who won the last Quidditch World Cup? Father says he’s going to take me to the next one in England. Do you play quidditch? I’m going to be on the house team at Hogwarts when I grow up.”

Harry smiles. “I’m not going to tell you that, Draco.”

“Hmm. How does time travel work?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t really know yet. I think it may be the result of a curse. You know how I look like Harry?”

Draco nods.

“That’s because I am Harry. That Harry was me when I was younger, just after I had gotten cursed. It slowed down after a while, but then I got hit with the same curse again a few years ago, and I’ve been traveling a lot lately.”

Draco’s eyes go wide. It makes sense now, that Harry is so similar to, well, Harry. He hopes this Harry likes to play Dragons and Tamers just as much. “Whoa!”

Harry twitches and makes a face. “I have to go now, but keep an eye out for me, okay Draco?”

“I will,” he promises, and watches as Harry disappears with another soft pop.

\---

_1 November, 1986. Malfoy Manor  
Harry 25, Draco 6_

Draco isn’t alone the next time Harry visits. Dobby is watching over him as he plays with his toy potion set. Luckily, Draco is prepared. After Harry left last time, he went through all of the possible scenarios like Uncle Severus taught him during potion making. 

“I forbid you from talking about this to anyone else, including Mother and Father,” Draco orders Dobby in his most Father-like voice as soon as Harry pops into his bedroom.

“Yes, Master Draco,” Dobby says, bowing to Draco.

“Dobby?” Harry asks, his eyes wide like Greg’s get when he sees chocolate cake at tea. They’re very green.

“What is Dobby be doing for you sir?”

“Nothing,” Harry declares, grinning now. “Nothing at all, I’m just happy to see you a-” Harry coughs and holds out his hand as if to shake Dobby’s. “My name is Harry. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

They all seem to freeze for a moment. Wizards don’t shake hands with house elves, everyone knows this. But Draco also knows it’s very rude to refuse to shake someone’s hand. And Harry knows who Dobby is without being introduced, so they must know each other in the future, right? He gives Dobby a little nod to show that it’s okay.

“Mister Harry, sir.” It looks so strange, to see Dobby shaking anyone’s hand, but he knows this is also his insurance that Dobby will not mention Harry to anyone.

Over tea, Harry asks Draco what he’s brewing.

"It's a Colour-Change Potion!" Draco announces. "Dobby sets the fire levels for me and makes sure nothing blows up, but I do the rest." None of his friends have successfully brewed this potion, but he has. "I even juiced the flobberworm, see?"

Draco hurries over to his potions setup where Dobby has placed the potion and ingredients under stasis so he can have tea with Harry.

"Impressive," Harry nods at his flobberworms. "What do you do when you finish it?"

"Show Mum or Father, and they and any of the house elves can test that it works. Then they usually Vanish it." He doesn't mention that Dobby has to Vanish his failed potions too - Father wouldn't like him to expose his failures to the world. _Malfoys don't fail,_ he says.

"Cool," Harry says. "I wish I had a potions set before Hogwarts. I've never been very good at it."

"But you're from the future! They don't have practice potions sets in the future?"

"I'm sure they do, Draco. I just didn't have one growing up. As silly as it is, you and I are the same age."

"You're not six."

Harry grins. "And you aren't 25. But I was born in 1980."

"That's when I was born!"

"See? So I'm from the future, but in my timeline you're the same age as me. Crazy, huh?"

"Do we know each other? In the future, I mean."

"We do."

"Are we friends?"

Harry's eyes glitter like he's keeping a good secret. "We are friends in the future, yes. And I like to think that we're also friends now."

\---

_3 February, 1987. Malfoy Manor  
Harry 26, Draco 6_

They’re in the middle of playing Dragons and Tamers when he notices the silver ring on Harry's finger.

“You’re _married?_ ”

“Hm? Oh!” Harry grins down at his hand, still holding Capricorn the Welsh Green. “Yeah.”

Draco pulls Capricorn out of Harry's hands and drags his left hand closer to inspect the ring. There is a light colored wooden wand inlaid in the ring, and as Draco twists the ring on Harry’s finger, tiny green emeralds appear to shoot from the wand tip. He hears Harry’s breath catch as it happens, and looks up.

"It's beautiful," he declares, still turning the ring round and round Harry's finger, watching the emeralds emerge from the wand again and again.

Harry laughs. "I knew you would like it."

"How long have you been married?"

"Um, about three weeks?"

"Are you in love yet?"

"What?"

"Are you in love yet?"

"Why- why would you ask that?"

Draco tries not to let his face fall in disappointment. "So you're not in love yet. That's okay, Mum didn't love Father right away either."

"No I- I love- I'm very much in love. I was in love long before we got married."

Draco's eyes widen. He's never heard of people being in love before marriage, except maybe for his Aunt Andromeda, but she's exiled from the family so he couldn't ask. "What is it like?"

Harry stands up and runs a hand through his hair, looking around Draco's room.

"Harry?" he asks when he doesn't get a response.

"Sorry, I- Sorry. I thought it was time for me to go, but I guess not. Er, what was the question?"

"What does being in love feel like?"

Harry sits down with a sigh and half a smile that grows as he keeps talking. "You always ask such difficult questions. Being in love is like… always wanting to be around them even when you don't. It's laughing at bad jokes and telling them to make the person you love laugh. It's sneakily casting warming charms even when h- they insist they're not too cold, because you want to make them happy. It's a warm feeling in your heart when you see them or think about them. It can be difficult, but so far I have to say it's worth it."

"I hope I'm in love with my wife someday. As long as it isn't Pansy." Draco makes a face at the thought.

Harry must know Pansy in the future too, because his expression looks like a strange cross between laughter and pain.

And then a horrible thought occurs to Draco. "It's not, is it? Please tell me I don't marry Pansy in the future!"

Harry bursts out laughing.

"Merlin's pants, I do, don't I?"

"Language," Harry says through his laughter, and then, "I can't wait to tell you both about this when I get back. This is the best trip I've ever been on."

And while Draco can't say he's looking forward to marrying Pansy or being humiliated by Harry in the future, he is proud of being Harry's favourite time travel trip. After all, Harry has been traveling ever since he was younger than Draco, and he's old now!

\---

_5-6 June, 1987. Malfoy Manor  
Harry 23, Draco 7_

Draco’s mother has just kissed him goodnight, wished him a happy birthday again, and closed the door behind her when Harry arrives. Suddenly it doesn’t matter that Draco was seconds away from falling asleep, Harry’s here for his birthday! He hasn’t been by in a few weeks, but he didn’t forget Draco’s birthday!

“Hey kiddo,” Harry whispers through the dark of Draco’s bedroom, tiptoeing his way to Draco’s bed.

“I’m not a ‘kiddo’ anymore,” Draco tells him. “I’m seven now.”

“Seven! Er, how long have you been seven?”

Harry didn’t come for his birthday, after all. Suddenly he wants to cry, but he blinks really hard to stop himself because _Malfoy men don’t cry._

“Draco?” Harry is kneeling next to his bed now, looking concerned.

“Today’s my birthday,” he mumbles. “I’m tired, I don’t wanna talk.”

“Of course. Can I lay down with you? I’m tired too.” Draco looks at him and realizes he’s wearing strange soft-looking pants and an undershirt. Maybe he was sleeping too.

“Get in the other side,” he tells Harry, who chuckles and then slides under the covers on the other side of the bed. They lay there together for a while, staring at the charmed ceiling showing the night sky full of stars. 

“I never had a birthday party until after I went to Hogwarts,” Harry says quietly. “I wish I could’ve gone to your birthday party today, I bet it was really fun.”

Harry’s words make Draco sit up a little. “You really never had a birthday party?” He snuggles closer to Harry to comfort him the way his mother does sometimes when he’s upset.

“Nope. Can you tell me about your party? Who came over? What did you do? Was there cake?”

Draco grins. He tells Harry all about Greg and Vince and Pansy and the snitch cake and the game of ground quidditch they played, and doesn’t notice when he falls asleep cuddled up in Harry’s strong arms.

When he wakes up the next morning, Harry is gone, and on his bedside table is a poorly wrapped, lumpy present with a tag that says “To: Draco, From: Harry” in terrible handwriting.

Draco tears it open to find a Slytherin-coloured scarf with snitches darting back and forth across the fabric. He puts it on over his pyjamas and stares at it in the mirror. It’s not as pristine as his other clothes, but it’s proof that Harry exists in between visits, and it’s brilliant enough that he decides he can forgive Harry for giving him a winter present in the middle of summer.

\---

_11 December, 1988. Malfoy Manor  
Harry 19, Draco 8_

Draco is working on his arithmetic when a soft pop tells him Harry has arrived. Thank Merlin, he’s so bored and his tutor is ill so she wants him to do double the homework until she is well enough to come back. He turns around with a grin and is about to say hi when Harry speaks.

“Hi, what’s your name? My name is Harry.”

Draco raises an eyebrow, hoping it looks as intimidating as when his parents do it. “You know who I am.”

Harry still looks confused, looking around Draco’s bedroom. “Have I visited you before then?”

“Yes…”

“So you know I’m a time traveler.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

Harry huffs. “Well this is my first time visiting you in my timeline. I guess all the other me’s who visited you were older than me-me.” 

Now that he looks closer, he can see that Harry does look different than usual. His glasses sit crookedly on his face and he looks more tired than usual.

“But you said we were friends in the future,” he points out, disappointed that Harry doesn't recognize him.

Harry’s entire face lights up as he beams at Draco. “Malfoy? I mean, Draco? This is so-” he looks around the room again. “Sorry, I just wanted to make sure, sometimes I travel to the future, and you could have been your own son for all I know.”

“You’ve never mentioned traveling to the future!” Draco exclaims. “What’s it like?”

“Well, not very far in the future. The furthest I've traveled into the future was two years or so, and that’s already in my past. But I guess most of my life is in your future.” He runs a hand through his messy hair, messing it up further. “It’s quite confusing.”

"But you could bet on quidditch scores after you already know them! You could leave yourself presents!"

"I could…"

"...but it wouldn't be fair. You're such a Gryffindor."

"How do you know that? I know I wouldn't tell you that before you've even been to Hogwarts."

"You have no idea how much you've let slip during your visits."

Harry settles into his usual plush chair in the corner of the room, looking relaxed, and wordlessly gestures for him to continue.

"Well...you're terrible at potions but you're good at cooking, you're a Gryffindor, obviously, you've seen a Welsh Green and Hungarian Horntail in person, you play quidditch, your favourite position is seeker…" Draco is relishing in the look of astonishment on Harry's face. "Your handwriting is terrible, you like treacle tart more than cake, you take your tea black, you want to have children, you’re friends with me and you know Pansy and Greg, you never had a birthday party when you were growing up, and you're in love with your wife. Who you haven't married yet I guess. There's more but I can't think of any off the top of my head."

"Huh. How long have I been visiting you?"

"Since I was six."

"And you're…"

"Eight."

Harry nods. "Impressive. Did I happen to mention who my wife's name is?"

"No, and you said you couldn't tell me things from the future so even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you. Besides, you might find her and marry her before you fall in love and you definitely said you were in love before you got married."

"And I definitely said I had a wife?"

Draco frowns, trying to remember. “Yes. You were wearing a really cool wedding ring and said you were married and in love with her. So yeah, you definitely have a wife."

Harry's mouth twitches like he's trying not to frown. “I really thought- but it is early days still and I guess I can’t expect…” he trails off, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Anyway, that’s not the important part,” he says, to get Harry’s attention back on him.

It works. “What’s the important part?”

“Last time you were going to tell me what happened in the last World Cup in your time.”

“I was, was I?”

“Mmhmm. You said it was fine because it isn't a very important detail and probably won't change anything.”

“And this has nothing to do with the fact that you could remember this in the future and bet on the score with your friends?”

Draco makes his eyes as wide and innocent-looking as possible. “Of course not!”

“You forget that I know you in the future. At least now I know how you cheated. Alright, I’ll tell you which team caught the snitch, but I’m not telling you the score.

“Fine…” Draco tries to play it like this is the least Harry can do for him, the way he’s seen his father do during business deals, but inside he’s jumping up and down in excitement. He’s definitely writing this down everywhere so he doesn’t forget.

\---

_14 August, 1989. Malfoy Manor_   
_Harry 27, Draco 9_

For the first time in a long time, Draco isn’t happy to see Harry. It’s a hot, sunny day, and he’s just finished his schoolwork so he can play outside until the sun comes down. And since Harry is a secret, he either has to stay inside or leave Harry to play by himself in Draco’s room while he has fun without him outside.

“Oh no,” Harry says. “I know that face. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, trying to hide his broom behind his back.

“Draco,” Harry warns, looking pointedly past Draco’s feet where the bristles are visible beneath the edge of his robes.

“I was just going to play outside because it’s finally warm out, but now we can’t, because Mother and Father would see you and they would probably kill you.”

“They probably would. Well there’s no reason we can’t have a little fun inside!”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “I was going to play quidditch.”

“Well. I was a- I played quidditch at Hogwarts and I know how to train pretty well without a broom. Do you have a snitch?”

“Yes…”

“Go get it and we’ll play a seeker’s match--on foot! No magic.”

Draco narrows his eyes. He's not about to lose because his opponent used magic. "Put your wand down, and you have a deal."

A look Draco can't discern flashes across Harry's face, but then he grins and slides his wand into his back pocket. "What are you waiting for?"

Once Draco releases the snitch it almost becomes a more exciting version of tag, with a wrestling component. When the snitch flies to the corner near Harry's usual plush chair, they race to get there first. Draco wins and clambers up on the chair, trying to reach the snitch as it hovers over his head. Harry grabs him in a grindylow hug and swings him around until Harry is between Draco and the snitch.

He definitely needs to introduce Greg and Vince to this game, they'll love it.

Draco makes another run for the chair when the snitch moves out of the corner, going towards his bed. Harry outruns him this time, tripping and belly flopping on the bed just before he gets the snitch. Draco laughs at him as he runs around and climbs up on his nightstand to grab it.

"HA!" He yells in Harry's face, waving the captured snitch so he can't miss it.

"I call a rematch!" Harry declares, and Draco doesn't wait for him to get up before he releases the snitch and runs after it, blocking Harry from passing by him.

They spend more time in the second round blocking each other from getting near the snitch than actually catching it, but after a while, the snitch hovers in the corner near the ceiling where neither of them can reach it.

“I can Summon it,” Harry suggests as they sit staring hopelessly up at the snitch.

“Then the game will be forfeit. The rules were no magic!”

“Yeah.” The snitch floats towards them for a few seconds in a taunt before heading back to its unreachable position.

“What if you held me up? I can probably reach it if you hold me over your head!”

“Okay, let’s try it,” Harry agrees.

The snitch is still in a playful and evasive mood, because as soon as Draco climbs onto Harry’s shoulders it flits away to the other side of the room. Draco directs Harry as if he’s a very sentient broom, leaning forward or back and pressing one of his knees when he wants to turn. When Draco finally catches the snitch, Harry is grinning and panting.

“I deserve some credit for this catch,” he tells Draco. “You couldn’t have gotten it without me!”

“Yes I could have!” Draco says, to be contrary.

“No you could not!” Harry tackles him on his bed, tickling him all over.

“I could so!” he says, still giggling.

The weight over him suddenly disappears as Harry stands up abruptly. “I have to go, I had so much fun to-”

Draco sits up slowly, knowing that Harry is already gone. He enjoys Harry’s visits so much, but every visit it’s that much harder to say goodbye, especially knowing that at some point Harry will stop visiting. He said last time that the final visit for years was Draco's first day at Hogwarts, and as much as he’s looking forward to Hogwarts, he can’t help but be sad that Harry will stop visiting.

\---

_27 April, 1991. Malfoy Manor_   
_Harry 24, Draco 10_

“What’re you reading?” Harry’s voice came from right over Draco’s shoulder and he jumped.

“Merlin and Morgana!” Draco exclaims, turning to face him. “Weren’t you ever taught not to sneak up on people who were clearly busy?”

“Nope!” Harry grins, and Draco gives in and grins back. “So what are you reading?” Harry asks again.

“ _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ ,” Draco tells him. “Uncle Severus brought it for me this morning, so I can get ahead of the class.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise. “Uncle Severus?”

Draco nods excitedly. “He’s my godfather, and he’s the best potions professor in the world!”

Harry smiles again. “And what have you learned from your textbook?”

“Well,” Draco begins dramatically. “First of all, I already know a lot of these. If Hogwarts didn't let mu-uhhh the _other sort_ in, I bet half of these wouldn't even need to be included. It would be called _Five Hundred Magical Herbs and Fungi_."

Draco grins at Harry, hoping he will be distracted by his joke and not mention that he had almost slipped up again and called mudbloods mudbloods in front of Harry. It's pretty much the only rule Harry has ever given him in their time together: Draco can slouch, slurp his soup, dance, make silly faces, and do whatever he wants that his parents never approve of, so he makes an effort not to say 'mudblood' in front of him.

Harry doesn't comment on his mistake, just smiles a little bit and tells him, "Not everyone is as lucky as you to have a potions professor as an uncle, you know. You've been brewing for a while now, so I'm sure you know a lot about potions ingredients I had never heard of before I went to Hogwarts." 

Things are a little tense between them for the rest of Harry's visit, and Draco makes a note that he'll have to be more careful when he becomes friends with Harry at Hogwarts. 

\---

_31 July, 1991. Malfoy Manor_   
_Harry 26, Draco 11_

“You look all dressed up,” Harry says, a little disappointed. Sometimes he visits just when Draco is about to leave, and they don’t have as much time to hang out.

But today, Draco can’t bring himself to care overmuch. Only his sense of Malfoy decorum keeps him from jumping up and down in excitement.

“I get my wand today,” he says, “and my official potions ingredients, and my school robes.”

“Oh.” Harry looks a bit taken aback.

“Of course,” Draco continues, looking down at his school list, “I already have a cauldron, but I suppose I’ll be needing a new one, along with the rest of these. It won’t do to have hand-me-downs like the _Weasleys_. Oh, and owl treats for Lyra, of course. I know I’ve been to Diagon before but it’s just so exciting this time.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is,” Harry murmurs. “It’ll be nice to have your magic under control,” he adds, looking more like himself.

“Hey! That was two years ago, and it was proof I have magic!”

Harry rolls his eyes, and Draco’s secretly glad he doesn’t mention it again. The whole period of time around there made Draco cringe. He’d requested a few months beforehand that Harry call him Malfoy, and Draco would call Harry by his last name, but Harry had refused both requests.

“You’re Draco to me whether I’m here or back in my time, I’m not calling you by your last name. And I’m definitely not telling you _my_ last name,” he’d said.

And then he hadn’t visited Draco again for a long time. Draco knew Harry didn’t control when and where he went, but when he did return a few months later, just after his ninth birthday, Draco’s magic wrapped Harry in a cocoon of blankets from the moment he arrived. Harry teased him mercilessly about missing him, and was still wrapped in one blanket when he left. The blanket had disappeared with him, and Draco presumed it was at Harry’s manor somewhere, reminding him of Draco.

“So. Today’s the day, huh?”

“Yes,” Draco replies. “What was it like for you?”

“Buying my supplies? Erm, well, I had never been to London before, so it was my first time at Diagon Alley, and it was amazing. I had no idea you could buy all of those things. I didn’t have a cauldron or anything, so I got everything on the list, oh, and Gringotts. It was my first time in Gringotts. Um… It took a while for my wand to choose me, but don’t worry about that, you’ll be fine.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah,” Harry gives him a tight smile. “That’s it. I’m sure you’ll have a good time. And before you know it you’ll be on the way to Hogwarts."

\---

_1 September, 1991. Hogwarts Express  
Harry 11, Draco 11_

Draco lingers in the open compartment doorway. If what everyone’s saying is true, Harry Potter is sitting in front of him.

And he looks just like Harry - his Harry. The same messy black hair, brown skin, glass bottle green eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and he must have missed the scar before.

Harry - _Potter_ \- confirms who he is, and Draco introduces Vince and Greg by their last names before using his own full name. Maybe it will trigger a memory; Harry had visited Draco when they were toddlers, there’s a chance he still remembers although it’s fuzzy for Draco now.

What is clear, is that Harry and Draco are friends in the future. _This_ must be the future he was talking about. He will be the great Harry Potter’s best friend. It’s just what he deserves as a Malfoy, but he still feels a thrill of excitement go through him.

Another boy in the compartment coughs. Draco knows in a glance who he is and responds accordingly. “Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”

That done, he turns back to H- Potter. “You’ll soon find out that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” Draco holds out his hand the way his father taught him - strong arm, steady gaze, firm grip.

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” Potter responds coolly, keeping his hands in his lap.

And this - something is very wrong. Draco pulls up his mask, the one he never expected to have to use in front of Harry, and uses the skills available to him.

“I would be more careful if I were you, Potter,” he says, choosing his words carefully to match the pain Potter has just caused him. “Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it’ll rub off on you.”

It has the effect he wants; both Potter and Weasley stand up, ready to fight. They’ll never be a match on Crabbe and Goyle though, and they have to know that.

If Harry Potter doesn’t want to be his friend, this is what he’ll get.

\---

_1-2 September, 1991. Slytherin Dormitory, Hogwarts  
Harry 27, Draco 11_

Draco’s dorm-mates seem to have no trouble sleeping, but he is still lying awake, missing the comfort of home and wondering how Potter could have rejected him. They are supposed to be friends, best friends. It’s something he’s looked forward to as he grew up, the time he’d meet Harry and be practically guaranteed a friend. They know things about each other, they play well together, Harry said they’re friends, but he just doesn’t understand what went wrong!

The clock’s just chimed midnight when Draco hears a soft pop through the curtains of his four poster bed. He rips open the curtains to see Harry turning on the spot, still protected by his Protego. Normally, he immediately tears it down, but he’s not in Malfoy Manor like usual. And if Draco could cast anything confidently, he’d be shooting hexes that would make Harry wish he still had his shield up.

But he doesn’t, so he just whispers, “Put up a silencing spell and get over here.”

Harry wordlessly casts a silencing spell and sits quietly on the edge of Draco’s bed, seeming to sense Draco’s anger. The tip of his wand is glowing with a quick lumos, and it casts shadows on the bed curtains.

“Have you ever changed events by telling someone something you shouldn’t have about the future?” Maybe something’s gone wrong, maybe he can change something so tomorrow, Potter will want to be friends again. Maybe-

“No, not that I know of.” Harry looks concerned, but Draco’s done. Obviously everything Harry’s told him was a lie, except that he’s a Gryffindor, but Draco had that figured out before Harry even confirmed it.

“So you’re just a liar then.”

“D-Dra-”

“It’s Malfoy to you,” Draco cuts in sharply, then spits, “Potter.”

Harry recoils as if Draco has hexed him, and Draco looks up to notice that his scar is indeed missing. He’s probably glamouring it so that Draco won’t recognize him, like the liar he is.

“I’m not a liar, Malfoy.”

It’s no good, Harry says Malfoy like he says Draco, too nice, like they really are friends. Like he really never lied to him.

“Prove it.”

“I can’t.”

“You said we were friends,” he says, and tries to keep his voice from cracking. “But we’re not, we’re _enemies_.”

Harry sighs and runs a hand through his hair but doesn’t refute it. “I’m not sure what to tell you. There is a possibility that you could change the past, er, your future, knowing what you know, but I really don’t know what would happen.”

“But what do I know? ‘We’re friends in the future,’ you said. Why couldn’t you just shake my bloody hand?”

“I can’t change the past,” Harry says, and a few tears escape his eyes, their paths shining in the wandlight. Malfoy men don’t cry, but apparently Potters do. It seems that Draco is finally seeing the real Harry Potter, the one who lies and demands his attention and is weak, undeserving of all the special treatment he’s gotten just for his name.

“Then how am I supposed to change the future? If everything has already happened in your life, then mine is predetermined, at least up to the point of however old you are, if not longer.”

“You do always ask the difficult questions. The truth is that I don’t know. No one knows much about time, or time travel. Y- Some people I know are working on it, but it's a slow process. Strange things happen when people meddle with time, according to the textbooks, but is it meddling when you can’t help it? When you just disappear and have no idea where or when you’ll end up?

“So I suppose I did lie to you just now. I don’t know if I have changed the future by doing something in the past. Sometimes I have no choice. I find myself in the middle of a fight, and there’s nothing I can do but participate, and try to ensure I get back to my present still alive. Sometimes there is no danger, but is it wrong to talk to people or do things while in the other time and place, where anything you do, any breath you take could change the future to the point where you no longer exist?

“The best I can do for you is to not tell you what I know about your future. One time I went to the future and someone told me I was going to do something terrible, but wouldn’t tell me what it was. He said if he told me, I wouldn’t do it, but that it needed to happen. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now, but I understand what he meant. Knowledge of the future is dangerous. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that we’re friends, maybe I shouldn’t have gotten to know you at all. But maybe it was important. Only you will be able to determine that, and only after the fact.”

Harry pats his knee softly. “I know this is a lot to take in, so maybe the best thing to do in this situation is to not think about it, and just do what you are going to do without worrying whether or not it’s what happened in my past. That’s what I try to do.”

“This wouldn’t even be a problem if you weren’t here!” Draco yells, his anger at the situation and Harry exploding inside of him. “I don’t want you to visit me ever again!”

“I won’t,” Harry promises sadly. Draco can’t tell if it’s a lie or not. “I’m sorry, Draco.”

And then Draco is alone in the dark in his four poster, thinking about the future and what he’s supposed to do now.

\---

_9 September, 1991. Hogwarts  
Harry 11, Draco 11_

It's odd, being in Potter's presence and not feeling the force of his full attention on him. Whenever Harry visited before, he was Draco's from beginning to end - he would do, say, or listen to anything Draco asked of him, barely questioning anything about their time together. Now, Potter only spares him fleeting glances in class or in the halls. It's...odd.

During their first flying lesson, he notices that Potter seems friendly with Longbottom, and takes advantage of this fact to get his attention. It works, and what’s more, it seems to get Potter in trouble with his Head of House. _Good,_ Draco thinks vindictively, _he lied to me for years, he deserves to get in some trouble._ And with his name, he’ll always get off too easily. Who would dare give the great Harry Potter detention?

Increasingly, Draco finds himself doing anything he can to get Potter’s attention. When Potter is looking at him, Draco can see hints of the man he will become, and he feels a bit more normal. Potter’s dead parents are a cheap shot, but guaranteed to get a reaction, and to keep him thinking about Draco. The only thing that he absolutely won’t mention is the time travel. It would only invite questions, and he wants to put that period behind him. Harry won't visit him any longer, and Draco won't give him any reason to. He's done with time travel, done with Potter.

Still, he finds himself in the library just before curfew, looking for books on time and time travel. His excuse that he's familiarizing himself with the filing system goes out the window when he borrows one to read over the weekend. It's just curiosity, he tells himself, even as he stays up late Saturday night reading feverishly.


	3. we cannot choose our fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's first year at Hogwarts, learning how to deal with his time traveling abilities.

_3 November, 1991. Potions Classroom, Hogwarts_

It's been almost two months since Harry arrived at Hogwarts, and he finally feels like he found a place where he belongs. He has Ron and his roommates, already more friends at one time than he can ever remember having. It's the best experience of his life, except for potions.

As much as Harry wishes he could blend into the crowd, Professor Snape singles him out for either his celebrity or his atrocious potions making skills nearly every day. He hasn't done so yet today, so when Snape dismisses class, Harry can't pack his things fast enough. Snape has had it in for him since the first day of class, and when possible, Harry avoids spending time with him.

"Mr. Potter." Snape’s voice stops him before he can escape the dungeons.

Harry grimaces at Ron, and then turns around to face the professor, whose limp is still noticeable even a few days after they noticed at Halloween.

“Remember, eight o’clock tonight. You’ll be scrubbing cauldrons for your detention.”

Malfoy snickers in the background as Harry’s jaw drops open. “But why? I didn’t do anything!”

“You know why,” the professor intones, his lip curled into a sneer.

“I don’t, though,” Harry mutters to Ron as they make their way up the stairs towards the Great Hall. “He didn’t even deduct house points first!”

“Snape’s evil,” Ron says loyally. “I bet whatever he thinks you did, he’d give Malfoy points for doing the same thing.”

“At least he hasn’t set me another essay,” Harry says, trying to look on the bright side.

\---

_18 November, 1991. Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts_

Harry's in the common room with Ron and Hermione, trying to finish up the foot-long charms essay due tomorrow when it happens. His chest starts to itch, and the itching spreads across his skin like a wave. Suddenly the skin on his fingers and toes feels like it's simultaneously too big and too small, and when he looks down at his hands he expects to see - well, something that would explain the feeling. But his hands look the same as they always do, even when he clenches them into fists to stop himself from scratching.

He vaguely remembers this happening when he was little, and he knows he was punished for it, but he can't remember why or what happened. After all, there wasn’t much he wasn’t punished for at the Dursley’s.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Hermione’s voice grounds him to the present, and he can hear his erratic breaths as he tries to remain calm.

The Dursley’s aren’t around to punish him right now, he reminds himself. No matter what happens, Ron and Hermione are his friends.

"I…" He screws his eyes shut to avoid looking at his seemingly normal hands which feel anything but. Maybe if he just sits still and focuses on his breathing, the feeling will pass. He thinks his friends are saying something else but all he can hear is a rushing, staticky sound in his ears.

\---

_2 November, 1991. Third Floor Corridor, Hogwarts_

Suddenly, all is quiet, and Harry is falling as if the chair has been taken out from under him. And it has - he finds himself lying on the cold stone of an empty corridor, his skin feeling perfectly fine again.

The sense of deja vu increases as he realizes this too happened when he was a child. His skin would do the horrifying thing, and then he would reappear somewhere else. He concentrates, trying to remember, but all that stands out is a child his age with bright blond hair, shoving a stuffed animal in his hands and demanding Harry play with them.

He hopes he would remember the room if he landed there again, but instead the stones look familiar for a different reason: he’s still in Hogwarts. He’s in a cold dark hallway, and it seems like it’s quite late - no one else is around. Harry supposes this is a good thing, since his sudden appearance would probably be shocking and newsworthy. He reaches for his wand so he can find his way back to the Gryffindor common room, but realizes all he has with him are the clothes he’s wearing and the quill in his hand. His wand is probably still sitting next to his parchment in the common room. But then how did he get here if not with his wand?

“Great,” Harry mutters, squinting in the dark to make out the paintings around him. None of them look familiar, though, and he begins to worry that he’s truly lost. The worry turns to panic when he hears sounds coming down the hall, around a corner.

Most worrying is the sound of a beast snarling, and Harry can all too easily picture its eyes glaring angrily and its jaw snapping. Part of him wants to help whoever is being snarled at, and although he's wandless and in an unknown corridor, he takes a few steps forward. Before he can go too far, he hears a deep voice cursing Hagrid's love of ridiculous creatures and a door clicking closed, silencing the beast.

Everything is silent for a moment, before the voice whispers, "Lumos," and the unknown man begins to walk, an odd cadence that suggests he might be injured.

Harry's breath quickens as the light comes closer and closer. There's nowhere to hide, the door behind him is locked, and it's too silent for him to run far. Even with the other person limping, Harry has no doubt he'll be caught before he gets back to the common room.

 _Now would be a good time to disappear again_ , Harry tells his body, but his skin hasn't started feeling tight-loose by the time the wand rounds the corner, Professor Snape attached to it.

When Snape sees him, he stops dead, and tries to hide his injured leg again. It looks worse than it did at Halloween.

"What," he snaps, "are you doing out of bed at this hour, Mr. Potter?"

"Er, sleepwalking, sir," Harry says.

"Detention. Tomorrow night, eight o'clock. I trust you'll be able to find your way back to your common room before Filch and Mrs. Norris also find you out of bed?"

"Yes, sir."

Harry practically runs back to Gryffindor tower, but when he gets to the portrait hole, he hesitates. He instinctively knows that his body will return him to his place in the common room, but what would happen if he was already in place? He imagines being shoved into himself painfully, and decides to wait for his body to do whatever it does. If Filch comes around the corner he'll use it as a last resort, but this will be fine for now. Some part of his subconscious is curious as to why they haven't learned about this yet; it seems important and a little dangerous, but then again hasn't everything here been like that so far?

Soon enough his skin starts to itch and feel both tight and loose, and he prepares himself to be transported inside.

\---

_18 November, 1991. Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts_

When Harry opens his eyes again, Ron is gone, and Hermione is nervously tapping her quill against her leg, looking around anxiously. She jumps when he appears, standing in front of his chair.

“Harry are you alright? What happened? Where have you been? Oh, I need to tell Ron-” Hermione starts to move towards the boys dormitories before turning back and giving Harry a tight hug. He's so surprised he barely manages to raise his arms before she's let go and started to pack up her things. "We need to have a private discussion upstairs, our homework can wait."

"Hermione, are you alright?" he asks. He's only known her for two and a half months, but she's acting very strangely.

"Upstairs," is all she responds. She levitates her’s and Ron’s supplies and marches up to the spiral staircase, leaving Harry to pick up his wand and quickly shove his books and parchment into his bag. He follows her silently all the way up, where they meet Ron on his way down.

“Mate!” Ron says, slapping him on the shoulder. “Thought you’d run off on us for a minute there. How’d you do that?”

“Do what?” Harry asks.

“We are _not_ discussing this on the stairs,” Hermione says sternly. Ron rolls his eyes at Harry over her shoulder but goes back up to their room, and they follow.

There’s an awkward silence as they all stare at each other, not sure where to begin.

“So,” Harry says, trying to sound casual but not succeeding in the slightest. He has no idea what’s going on, something must have happened while he was gone for both of them to be acting weird.

“Hermione thinks you bloody disappeared, mate.”

“And Ronald thinks you just went off to the loo without telling us, when I clearly saw him disappear from his chair!” The last part is directed at Ron, who immediately begins arguing back.

“There’s no way that could have happened!”

“I was looking right at him when it happened! I should know!”

“I did disappear.”

This gets both of them to stop arguing and stare at him, Ron in open-mouthed astonishment and Hermione in smug triumph which turns quickly into curiosity.

“What?”

“It’s happened before, I just forgot about it,” Harry explains dismissively. “The Dursley’s never liked it when I traveled like that but that’s not entirely surprising given their opinion of magic in general.”

“Harry…”

“That’s not exactly...normal, mate.”

"It's not? I thought...when Hagrid came to tell me about magic, he said funny things happening to me were natural, just signs I had magic. I figured..."

"Do you control it?" Hermione asks. "Is that why you call it travel?"

“No, it just happens, and then a little while later I come back. I think I used to go play with a kid when I was little. This time I just went to some hallway in Hogwarts, d’you think it’s some kind of teleportation magic?”

“Like apparation?” Ron asks.

“Yeah, could be,” Harry agrees.

They both look to Hermione.

“I...I have no idea,” she admits. “What happened, exactly? Where did you go?”

"I went to that corridor where the three headed dog is, I think, and Snape came out of there and gave me detention for being out of bed."

“Again? I swear, he has it in for you.”

“I have to go to the library.”

“What, now?”

“I think I may be able to find something about Harry’s condition there.”

"But you can't be caught out of bed now! You'll get a detention too!"

"It's before curfew, Harry."

"But- it- no one was in the corridors!"

"Which is why I think it's not just apparation, regardless of the fact that apparation takes a long time to master and you'd need to have a destination in mind before you did it. Now if you'll excuse me."

\---

_19 November, 1991. Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts_

"So?" Hermione asks when Harry climbs through the portrait hole.

"Snape is teaching Remedial Potions right now, and when he saw me he asked what I was doing there."

Hermione grins in response.

"Well maybe Snape's just forgotten?" Ron chimes in. "Hey, let's tell Dumbledore Snape's forgetting things, maybe he'll sack him!"

"We are not doing that," Hermione says. "Because I know what Harry's condition is."

"You do?" Harry and Ron chorus.

"It's time travel."

" _Time_ travel?"

"Yes. From what Harry's said, his detention was supposed to be eight o'clock tonight, scrubbing cauldrons. Well, from what I remember, about two weeks ago you had detention for no reason, with Snape, scrubbing cauldrons. So clearly, Harry traveled to the past and got in trouble, and he's already served his detention for it. It's just that he saw Snape two weeks ago instead of last night."

"Blimey," Ron breathes. "Time travel."

"But... how?"

"I've been doing some research on the subject," Hermione says. "I can only find one record of someone traveling without a time turner, it's quite a rare ability."

"A time turner?"

"Yes, time turners are devices which can help the user travel back in time, up to five hours. There are a lot of regulations on them because some really bad things have happened to wizards who meddled with time."

"Hermione," Harry states anxiously, "I traveled a lot further back than five hours."

"I know, but you're a unique case, I think. Wizards created time turners with magic, because they wanted to change the past or the future. It wasn't natural like yours is."

"But isn't magic natural?" Just a few months ago, Harry would have said that objects flying without motors or wings was unnatural, but now that he has learned wingardium leviosa, it seems quite natural. Wouldn't this mean that time travel could be natural too?

"Yes but, Harry, with the exception of you and this other person ages ago, no one has accidentally time traveled. It took the Unspeakables hundreds of years and cooperation with other Unspeakables around the world to formulate time turners that were safe for public use.

"The most notable case of documented time travel in public record is from 1899, when Eloise Mintumble used a time turner to travel back to 1402. She survived the travel back in time but became stuck there. They don't mention why, but it's almost as if her presence created a new timeline."

"A new timeline?"

"Yes, well somehow the Unspeakables were able to pull her out of 1402 after five days, which again, they don't mention." Hermione sighs. "But when they tried to bring her back to the present, her body aged as if she'd lived the entire five hundred years, and she died shortly after in St. Mungo's. She had altered the timeline even only staying for five days, and several people were un-born due to their ancestors' actions changing history.

"Ever since then, the Ministry has banned time travel further than five hours in the past, and not at all in the future, obviously."

"If that's true, then what's happening to Harry?" Ron asks. "He's not aging every time he comes back, is he?" He turns to Harry, looking concerned. "Are you?"

"I dunno. I don't feel as if I've aged, but I only went two weeks into the past, so it wouldn't show much. And I didn't get stuck or alter any timelines. Well, except for getting myself detention, I guess."

Hermione looks concerned. "You wouldn't know if you'd altered any timelines, Harry. That's the nature of the thing, in every case, including the Mintumble case, it's unclear what has changed. Mintumble knew who was missing from her old timeline, but no one else did. They had just simply never been born.

"If you did something like that, when you came back everyone would be living in the changed timeline, and you would be the only person to know what was different, if you even bothered to check. It could be something big like people disappearing, but it could also be something small that will eventually change the future, like if in the new timeline you do detention with Snape, but in the old timeline some others have detention, form a bond and create a new friendship. In this timeline that never happened, and maybe they never become friends? There are always consequences, Harry. It's just that we might not see them."

Hermione looks concerned. "I suppose you can't really help where you end up, but please be careful and try to only observe what you see, at least until we have more information to go on. And you've still gone much further into the past than anyone else has in the past ninety years. And without a time turner.

"As for the aging part, I guess we'll have to wait and see. I expect Madam Pomfrey would know about it if we get worried..." She trails off, clearly thinking of how best to prove her theories.

"You said there was someone else like me. What happened to them?"

Hermione sighs. "She lived long before Eloise Mintumble, they had different beliefs back then. Everyone thought it was the result of a curse. Except in those days, at least with muggles, curses were less physical and more a punishment from God. The author speculates that it could have been two combined curses or something to that effect, but it was just too long ago to have much that's still legible."

"I haven't been cursed, though, let alone two combined curses. I grew up with muggles."

"Harry, you survived an Unforgivable Curse as a baby."

"You think I'm like this because I survived Voldemort's killing curse? Or some combination? Why would he want me to time travel?"

"I don't think it was intentional," Hermione rolls her eyes. "When someone casts a killing curse, they don't usually think of side effects for the victim. They just want to kill them. No, I think the curse rebounding may have had some strange effect on you."

"Great, just another thing to thank Voldemort for," Harry says sarcastically.

\---

_20 November, 1991. Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts_

"I'm serious, Harry!" Hermione exclaims. "You need to quit the quidditch team! What if you time travel and disappear while on your broom? Last time you reappeared after traveling, you were in exactly the same spot. What if you come back and your broom has fallen because you're not there?"

"Maybe his broom will go with him," Ron points out, and receives a glare for his trouble.

"Why would his broom go with him? That's absurd, Ron." 

"You said yourself that history of this stuff is really vague," Harry adds, warming to Ron's idea. "Maybe that Elo-whatsit lady was able to carry stuff with her. I took my clothes with me, did she?"

"Merlin, imagine if you'd traveled naked," Ron says, eyes wide in horror. "You saw Snape, Harry. _Snape!_ "

Harry shudders. It's too horrible to imagine. 

"But even though your clothes traveled with you, the chair didn't," Hermione points out, thankfully moving on. "A broom has some of the same functions as a chair, even more reason to think it wouldn't travel with you." 

"I don't really care if it goes with me, as long as I have my wand. I'm definitely trying to take it next time."

"See! You don't even believe you can take your wand, what makes you think- Wait, you don't care if when you come back, you fall hundreds of feet to the ground? You could die!" 

"I'm sure one of the professors in the stands knows how to slow his fall," Ron says, and Harry agrees.

There's no way he's giving up playing quidditch, not now that he knows he's good at something, and besides, there's no backup Seeker for the Gryffindor team.

Hermione stops talking to them for the rest of the week, only asking if either of them have found anything on Nicolas Flamel. Ever since Hagrid told them Nicolas Flamel's name, they've been searching for mentions of him in every book they can find, but they haven't had any luck so far. 

\---

_15 December, 1991. Library, Hogwarts_

Harry, Ron and Hermione are walking out of the Great Hall with Hagrid, a day before Hermione leaves for the holiday. When they mention going to the library for a half hour before lunch, Hagrid expresses surprise at their dedication.

"Oh, we're not studying!" Harry tells him. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel, we've been trying to find out who he is." 

"You what? Listen here, I've told you, drop it. It's nothing to you what that dog's guarding."

"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," Hermione says.

"Unless you'd like to tell us, and save us the trouble," Harry adds hopefully. We must've been through hundreds of books and we can't find him anywhere. Just give us a hint. I know I've read his name somewhere."

"I'm saying nothing," Hagrid tells them firmly.

"Just have to find out for ourselves then," Ron says, and the three of them head off to the library. 

In the library, they each grab two tomes and lay them out on a table in the back. Harry feels himself nodding off with fifteen minutes until lunch starts, when his skin starts doing the weird tight-loose thing. He quickly makes sure his wand is in his hand and stands up. He's not dealing with another 'falling out of his seat' trip if he can help it. Ron looks up, a question written on his face, but Harry just wordlessly taps Hermione on the shoulders to get her attention. 

"Is it happening?" Hermione asks in an excited whisper. "Oh, this is fascinating, Ron, look at his eyes, they're completely unfocused!"

"You don't look so good, mate," is the last thing Harry hears from either of them before the rushing fills his ears and he finds himself elsewhere.

\---

_3 July, 1922. Nicolas Flamel's Home, Paris_  
_Harry 11_

Harry’s ears pop, and he blinks to find himself standing in a laboratory of sorts. One of his trainers is missing, and he feels a bit off-kilter, feeling the thin, sun-warmed rug beneath his socked foot. He looks around with interest at the archaic sets of scales and knives, as well as the many dusty glass jars lining the walls. 

A soft cough startles him and he whips around, finding two men staring at him curiously. Their wands are drawn but they appear to be waiting for him to make the first move. The older of the two looks fragile, with pale and wrinkled skin, shoulder length white hair, and pale robes, while the younger sports an older version of muggle clothing and a closely cropped graying beard. 

“Er…” Harry says.

“Que puis-je faire pour vous, mon enfant*?” the older man says.

“Er, sorry?”

The younger man turns to the elder, and they discuss something in French before the younger man turns to him, speaking in crisp British English this time.

“Hello, what can we do for you?”

“Er. I’m not sure, to be honest. I was just at Hogwarts, it’s a wizarding school in Scotland, um-”

“Hogwarts?” Both men look taken aback.

“Y-yes? I’m sorry, could you please tell me where I am?”

“You are in my laboratory,” the older man says. “In Paris.”

Harry’s jaw drops and he looks around himself again, focusing on what he can see through the windows. “Paris? I’ve never been to Paris before.”

“And how have you come to Paris now?” the younger man asks.

"Er," Harry hesitates. How much is he allowed to say? Will he be changing the timeline? Hermione's warnings flash through his mind, and he attempts to shove them back. "I sometimes travel without intending to. Um. Time travel?"

"Time travel!" The men exchange excited glances. "Well, feel free to rest your weary feet, young traveler. And what is your name?"

"Harry. Harry Potter." Harry's eyes dart between the men, certain his name will garner a reaction, but it doesn't. He must be sometime before Voldemort's first defeat, then.

"Very nice to meet you, Harry Potter. My name is Nicolas Flamel, and this young man here is Albus Dumbledore." Flamel eyes Harry as he says this, trying to gauge his reaction in return.

Harry's eyes go wide as he stares between the two men in front of him. "Oh!" He's further in the past than he thought, if this just-graying man is his headmaster. "So you're _old_ friends. I've been trying to find, er, mentions of you in my textbooks, sir," he tells Flamel. "What year is it?" He's hoping that a year and a place will be enough to point Hermione in the right direction.

"It is nineteen hundred and twenty two, young man," Flamel tells him. "May we ask what year you travel from?"

"Er, 1991." Harry turns to Dumbledore. "I can't believe it's you, Professor. You look so different from how you are in my time." 

"A bit younger, I'd say," Dumbledore says, and there, his blue eyes are still twinkly.

Both men have relaxed significantly, and seem to be taking him at his word. They both have a lot of questions about his time travel, and offer theories so complex that Harry can't follow. 

"I really wish I knew more magic to be able to protect myself when I traveled," Harry remarks as they sit down at Flamel's table for tea some minutes later. "I can't seem to control where or when I travel to, what if I went straight to V- a dark wizard?"

"A _P_ _rotego_ when you arrive might be of some use," Flamel remarks.

Harry nods and makes a note to ask Hermione what that is.

"It would give you a bit more time to evaluate the situation. I find it highly unlikely that your magic would send you into danger, though."

"I never thought I would be sent seventy years into the past either," Harry feels he has to point out. "And it has already gotten me detention for being out of my dormitory after curfew."

This causes both men to laugh. 

"Er, now that I have met you, sir, I wanted to ask, are you...are you already famous for something? Something dangerous maybe?"

"Dangerous!" the old man exclaims. "I suppose, in the wrong hands... You certainly won't be seeing it, if that's what you're asking." He narrows his eyes at Harry. "Who are you, really?" He raises his wand again and starts casting spells at Harry, several of which make his skin tingle. 

Harry wishes he already knew how to cast that _P_ _rotego_ Flamel told him about. Sure, with Ron and Hermione he helped defeat a mountain troll, but against an old competent wizard and Dumbledore, Harry knows he has no chance. _Wingardium Leviosa_ won't do him any good here, nor will _Lumos_ or any of the meager spells he's learned in the past few months. 

Once he stops panicking, Harry realizes that Professor Dumbledore is not participating in these spells. He's watching Harry curiously. 

"What led you to look into Mr. Flamel and his work?" 

A shiver runs down Harry's spine as Flamel casts another spell over him and he tries to think about how much to reveal. 

"On my first day visiting Gringotts, someone tried to steal something from a vault. I had seen that what was in the vault was small, and was told it was going to Hogwarts where it would be safer. The person tried to steal it too late. I, er, came across some knowledge that it was something between the two of you. I really don't want to use whatever it is, it's just that I think one of my professors is trying to sneak in and get it."

"Hm." 

"Surely it can't hurt to give the boy a hint, Nicolas," Dumbledore murmurs. "Even if he came here to steal it, which he clearly did not, the name and function will not be useful to obtaining it." 

"Fine, fine. I created something called the Philosopher's Stone. It can be used to create an elixir which can grant the drinker immortality, and it can transform any metal into gold."

"Whoa. Why is it in Hogwarts then? Why don't you have it? I mean, I guess you wouldn't know," Harry's face heats. Obviously neither of these men know what they're going to be doing so far into the future. 

"And I don't expect you will know," Flamel tells him, not unkindly. "Since it's outside of your purview. As the source of your knowledge said, it's a matter between myself and Professor Dumbledore. Now, shall I show you out?" 

\---

_15 December, 1991. Library, Hogwarts_

Ron and Hermione startle a little when Harry pops back into the present. 

"Blimey, I thought we'd starve before you came back. Do you know it’s already halfway through lunch?" Ron says, and then sees Harry's face. "What happened? You look like you need to sit down." He guides Harry back to the chair he’d sat in what feels like ages ago, and Harry can feel himself trembling in Ron’s grasp. 

His socked foot touches his missing trainer as he sits down but he can't bring himself to put it back on. If his time travel works like that woman Hermione told him about, he'll be aging soon, and he'll probably outgrow everything. He didn't go so far into the past to die immediately once he got back like that Elo-whatsit lady, but seventy or so years on top of his eleven will definitely make him an old man, and they'll probably make him leave Hogwarts and live somewhere else. 

"Harry?" Hermione's voice is trembling slightly. "Wh-What did you see? Was it You-Know-Who?"

"No, I met Flamel," he tells them, and surprisingly his voice sounds the same, not deeper or older than usual. He forces his eyes to refocus on the present. "Hermione, how long did it take that lady to age, when she came back?"

"Not very long, I'd imagine. She felt the effects immediately and-" she hesitates, "she died within a day. Harry, when did you travel to?"

Harry swallows, still tasting the tea and biscuits from his time with Flamel and Dumbledore. "1922."

“Blimey,” Ron breathes. 

“You don’t appear to be aging at all,” Hermione reassures him. “And considering the difference between your travel and Eloise Mintumble’s, it’s likely it won’t happen to you.” At Harry’s blank look, she elaborates. “She didn’t time travel naturally. She used external magic to send herself back so far into the past, and whatever spell they used had unintended consequences on both the timeline and her physical body. I highly doubt that your magic would work against you like that."

"It could be a blood condition, though," Ron chimes in. 

Hermione glares at him. 

"I’m sure it’s not though,” he corrects. “You don’t look like you’re getting older anyway,” he tells Harry. 

“He’s right. Do you think you can tell us what happened now?” 

“Yeah.”

Their eyes go wide when he tells them about younger Dumbledore who was already a Hogwarts Professor, and what 1920s Paris was like, not that he saw much of it before he was pulled back into the present. 

“But did you find out what Flamel is famous for?” Ron asks on their way to the Great Hall. All three of them are hungry, and lunchtime is almost over. 

“Yes,” Harry says, pulling them into an empty classroom. “He said he made something called the Philosopher’s Stone, which is some kind of alchemy thing. It can change any metal into gold, and makes some sort of potion to give you eternal life.” 

“What does Snape want with that?” Hermione asks.

“What wouldn’t he want with that?” Ron counters. “All the gold you want, and eternal life…” 

“But-“ Hermione cuts off Harry’s agreement with Ron. “Why would Dumbledore move it to Hogwarts if Snape is here?”

“Hagrid said Hogwarts was the safest place besides Gringotts, and remember someone tried to break into that vault?”

“Well, yes, but if that was Snape, they just moved it closer to him if he wants to try again. Which he obviously does.”

“We just have to trust that Dumbledore knows what he’s doing, don’t we?” Ron asks, opening the door back into the hall.

“You should write this all down, Harry,” Hermione tells him as they enter the Great Hall. “I think your magic is doing this for a reason, and I think your trips may contain important information for your life and your future. Why else would you travel seventy years in the past directly to the man we’ve been trying to find?”

“So, what, my magic’s gone rogue? Shouldn’t there be, I dunno, some way to control it? Make it so I can travel when and where I want, and not have it interrupt a study session?”

Hermione hesitates, glancing up at the head table. “Professor Dumbledore will be here over break, won’t he? Why don’t you ask him?” Her eyes light up as she keeps going. “It’s possible he’s done research on this since you met with him, and he’s really intelligent, he may know ways you could record your trips, or why your right shoe was left behind, or who knows what else!”

“Can’t hurt, mate,” Ron says. “Though I don’t envy you having to write to Dumbledore.” He shudders dramatically and digs into his food.

Hermione makes a disgusted face at Ron’s lack of manners and Harry grins at both of them. He’s so lucky to have them as friends.

\---

_17 December, 1991. Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts_

Harry stands in front of Dumbledore’s office, clutching the return letter with the Headmaster’s password in one hand and his wand in the other. It shouldn’t be so scary; Harry requested this meeting, not the other way around. It’s probably just the eerily empty halls and the memory of Dumbledore’s knowing eyes looking at him as he read Harry’s letter during breakfast.

“Maltesers,” Harry says nervously to the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office.

“In trouble, are you lad?” the gargoyle asks as he steps aside to show the spiral staircase. 

The door at the top swings open and Harry sees Dumbledore’s office for the first time. Dumbledore is busy putting some sort of metallic disc away in an old fashioned cabinet, but he turns and smiles when Harry enters the room. 

“Hello, Harry. Please, take a seat. Do you want tea?” 

Harry shakes his head and settles down in the chair facing Dumbledore’s desk. There are a lot of interesting things to look at in order to avoid the Headmaster’s piercing gaze. 

“Now, there was something you wished to discuss with me?”

“Yes, Professor. Er, I don’t know if you remember, but I, ehm, visited you? Around 1922? In Paris?” 

“I do remember. I’m sorry to say that I do not know much more about your power than I did then, although I still have many theories. Do you wish to tell me where you learned about Mr. Flamel?”

Harry gulps. “No, sir.” He’s not about to get Hagrid in trouble for revealing the existence of Fluffy, or the Stone. He’s sure he’ll get detention every day next term because of it. 

But all Dumbledore says is, “Very well,” and takes a sip of tea. “Now Harry, it is imperative that you keep your time traveling ability as secret as possible. I think it would be best not to inform your professors of your ability, and in fact, no one except for you and me. Lord Voldemort’s followers are still out there, and if they were to learn this about you, it could be deadly.” 

“Er, professor? Ron and Hermione and my Aunt and Uncle already know.” 

Dumbledore’s eyebrows raise. “Ah. I do seem to remember you mentioning a detention.”

“Yes, sir. It was about a month ago. It was the first time I traveled in a few years.”

Dumbledore steeples his hands contemplatively. “May I ask what occurred during these early trips?”

“I don’t really remember. I think I went to someone’s house? I played with another kid, but I don’t remember their name.” All he does remember is being happy and well-fed, something he became increasingly grateful for as he got older and had to hide food away to eat when Petunia and Vernon weren’t looking.

“Sir,” he adds hesitantly when Dumbledore makes no sign of asking another question, “I, er, well Hermione, read that meddling with time is dangerous. Do you think I messed something up by being there?”

“I think there was no other way you could have acted, given what was available to you. I still agree with Mr. Flamel that you should learn Protego and other defensive spells as quickly as possible. Once you become more advanced in your studies, there are disillusionment spells you can use so that as long as no one actively looks for you, you won't have to interact with anyone in the past at all." 

Harry nods. It makes sense, and once he can do those spells things will be much easier, except... "What about my shoe?" 

"The missing one or the one you were wearing?" 

"The missing one. It was left behind when I traveled to the past, but we don't have any idea why, and what if I end up leaving something behind when I come back to the present? If I was hiding." 

"And no other articles of clothing were left behind?" 

"No, sir."

"Hmm. I'm afraid I won't be able to help without more information. For example, were the laces of that particular shoe untied, or loose? Had you stepped on a piece of Droobles Best Blowing Gum? Was something different about the remaining shoe? Had you tied the laces around your ankle, did the laces come into contact with your skin at any point? Or you might have a limited number of objects you can bring with you. Think about that, and what might have been different from the time before."

"Thank you, sir." He stands, ready to leave, when Dumbledore calls him back. 

"Harry. You also mentioned that a professor was attempting to retrieve the stone. Do you wish to share your theories with me?" 

"Yes! It's Professor Snape, sir. At Halloween he started walking with a limp, and we think he was injured by the three headed dog." 

"I see. Thank you for letting me know. You may go back to your dormitory now, Harry." 

"But sir, aren't you going to do something about it?" 

"I will do what I think is necessary. Now, it's time you head back to Gryffindor tower."

\---

_25 December_ _, 1991. Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts_

The first present Harry opens on Christmas morning is his father's invisibility cloak.

"Who gave it to you?" Ron asks, his fingers running over the cloth in awe.

"I dunno. They knew my father, though. 'Your father left this in my possession before he died,'" he reads, "'It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.'"

"What d'you suppose they meant by that?"

"No idea. I think I'm going to use it when I time travel though, if I'm wearing it when I leave, hopefully it'll keep people from realizing I'm there, and I won't have to practice any of the disillusionment spells Dumbledore told me about."

"D'you think it could be from someone you've already visited?"

Harry pauses at that, and snakes a hand out of his cloak so that it looks as if it's floating with his head. "Well we know it's not Snape. I guess it could be Flamel or Dumbledore. Dumbledore would've given it to me when we met, though, wouldn't he have? In case I traveled again before Christmas?" 

"Dunno."

Harry carefully folds the cloak and returns to opening his presents. In addition to chocolate frogs from Ron, a wooden flute from Hagrid, and a 50-pence piece from the Dursley's, he's also got a hand-knitted jumper with an H on it from Mrs. Weasley and a journal from Hermione. Hermione's note says that he should use it to write down what happens when he travels, in case something happens that's important but he doesn't realize at the time. 'The journal will only open for the magical signatures you tell it to,' her note reads, 'so it can be as private as you want.' She goes on to say that of course, it's probable that a highly trained witch or wizard might be able to open it, but it's more private than a muggle journal. Harry guesses he'll take her word for it, as he never had one before. 

\---

_11 March, 1992. Charms Classroom, Hogwarts._

Harry's skin itches. He squirms in his seat, trying to stave off the inevitable, but he always travels relatively quickly after the symptoms start.

"Professor Flitwick, may I use the loo?"

Luckily Flitwick just nods and continues giving out the homework assignment while Harry makes his escape. He barely reaches the corridor and throws on the invisibility cloak before the discomfort reaches its peak and he disappears. Luckily Ron or Hermione know to take his things with them when he doesn't show back up.

\---

_18 June, 1943. Potions Classroom, Hogwarts._

Harry pops into existence in the middle of what looks like a Potions class. He's not in any immediate danger so he takes stock of himself quickly: still under the invisibility cloak, which he's holding from the inside just in case, he's wearing both shoes, his belt is still on, he can still see clearly, and his wand is in his right hand. He takes a silent deep breath and grins. He's not sure what he's done differently this time but it's all gone as planned for the first time! 

With that reassurance, he begins to look around himself in interest. The classroom looks similar in some respects, enough that Harry knows it's the potions classroom at Hogwarts, but none of the students nor the professor look familiar to him. It could be the past or the future, for all he knows; the professor is a tall, portly man dressed in an expensive looking waistcoat, similar in style to Flitwick's outfits. He has light coloured eyes, blond hair that's darker than Malfoy's but just as shiny, and a strawberry blond mustache. He's going around the room checking over everyone's potions and giving out either encouragement or pity, depending on what he sees. 

Harry begins to follow the professor, trying to get a better look at the potions and the people so he can describe them later. It's one of the upper classes, sixth or seventh years maybe, and it's a combined Gryffindor/Slytherin class judging by their robes. It's clear that this professor also has a preference for Slytherin, and Harry wonders what it is about Potions professors that makes them so Slytherin. 

It's starting to seem like his most boring trip ever when he notices the professor pause in front of an attractive Slytherin boy with dark hair. If his trips have meaning, this interaction has to be the point of this one. 

The professor barely glances into the boy's cauldron before declaring, "A smashing success, my boy." The room quiets expectantly as the professor continues on, gesturing expansively. "Of course, I could expect no less, now, could I Tom, after you saved us all." 

The boy, Tom, looked down with a little smile, his cheeks going pink. "It was nothing, sir, just doing what I can." 

"Nonsense!" the professor boomed. "I do believe that everyone here will agree with me that what you did was truly extraordinary." 

Harry looked around, and indeed many of the students' heads were nodding.

"Headmaster Dippet would not have granted you the Award for Special Services to the School if he did not agree as well, and believe me, my boy, that will come in handy when job hunting!"

\---

_11 March, 1992. Charms Corridor, Hogwarts._

Harry comes back to the present and is immediately disoriented. There are bodies everywhere and he's in the invisibility cloak and- he dodges out of the way of a determined looking upper year Hufflepuff, and darts across the foot traffic to one of the suits of armor. If he stays here, tucked against the armor and the wall, he's fairly certain no one will run him over. 

Once the crowds have died down he decides to head up to his dormitory to write this all down in his journal before he heads to Herbology, where Ron and Hermione have hopefully taken his things. It was a pretty boring trip, but he thinks the professor or the student, Tom, are important somehow. Or what he did for the school. Does it have something to do with the Philosopher's Stone? Or a dark wizard? 

\---

_4 June, 1992. Corridor outside the Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts._

"But Harry, you said you already talked to Dumbledore about Snape." Despite her words, Hermione and Ron are still following Harry as he hurries towards Dumbledore's office. With exams over, most of the student body is outside enjoying the weather, and the corridors are almost completely empty.

"Yes, but Hermione, it all makes sense! He was the stranger that gave Hagrid Norbert, so he knows how to get past Fluffy now! That means that he could try to get the stone any time, and Dumbledore needs to know. If Snape gives the stone to Voldemort, he'll be immortal!" 

They round the corner and almost run directly into Professor McGonagall.

"What are you three doing inside on a day like this?"

"We need to speak to Professor Dumbledore."

"I'm afraid the headmaster has been called away on urgent business to the ministry. You'll have to speak with him when he returns."

"But it's regarding the Philosopher's Stone!"

Professor McGonagall drops her books in surprise. "I do not know where you learned about the Stone, but it's perfectly safe where it is." 

"But it's not!" Harry exclaims in frustration. Especially if Dumbledore's gone. Snape probably orchestrated it all so that he could break in when there was the least security.

"I assure you that it is, Mr. Potter. Now would you please return to your dormitories." She casts a nonverbal spell and her books fly up neatly into her arms. With a stern look, she escorts them outside.

"What are we going to do?" 

"Have you seen anything more about the stone?" Ron asks. "Gone anywhere with Snape or Voldemort?"

"No. I mean, I did see some Death Eaters, but it was definitely in the past." He doesn't mention that he's pretty sure his and Ron's parents were there. Time is ticking and they have to stop Snape. "I'm going to stop him." 

\---

_7 June, 1992. Hospital Wing, Hogwarts._

Harry has to admit that in all the conjecture about the meaning of his time travel, he's never considered that it might be trying to trick him. 

"Of course it's not trying to trick you, Harry," Hermione says from her visitor's chair. "We jumped to conclusions. Professor Snape was trying to go after Professor Quirrell and find out what he was up to, and that's why he was injured by Fluffy. Traveling didn't give you his perspective of the event - you were still you and you could only learn what you would be able to normally. When you use the invisibility cloak you have the disadvantage of not being able to ask questions either, like you've stepped into a movie." 

"It could've shown him a better time," Ron points out. "Like when Snape was following Quirrell up to the third floor corridor or something. Why wouldn't it have shown him something more helpful?" 

"I didn't have the invisibility cloak yet. Maybe it knew that Quirrell would be suspicious or Snape would have to take care of me instead of following Quirrell?" 

Hermione hums. "Could be. Anyway, Madam Pomfrey said she just needs to do one final check on your hand and we can go down to the feast!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flamel says in french, "What can I do for you, child?" 
> 
> I'm not sure when I'll be able to post the next chapter, but I don't think it'll be soon, sorry! Real life and work are being overwhelming right now. As it is, this chapter didn't go through a final proofread like I normally do.


	4. that flighty temptress, adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's second year at Hogwarts, featuring the first time he meets Dobby, learning more about his time travel ability, and trips to before he was born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! Sorry it's been like 7 months since I posted the last chapter. I have been working on it, it's just that a) I'm a perfectionist, b) I keep thinking of new things I want to include at this point of the story, and c) I'm trying to finish a degree while battling depression during a pandemic. I have no idea when the next chapter is going to be ready, but it's going to be A While.
> 
> Also, I'm attempting a mixture of Harry and Draco POVs in this chapter. I've tried to make it obvious by the first phrase whose POV it is.

_31 July, 1992. Number Four, Privet Drive._

It’s Harry’s worst birthday yet, and that’s saying something. He’s spent all day cooking and cleaning for a dinner party his Aunt and Uncle are hosting, and now he’s going to be stuck in his room for the rest of the evening, not expecting anything by way of presents, let alone food.

A quick summary of his summer: his friends haven’t owled him all summer, and he’s always hungry. He’s only time traveled once, to Tom the Slytherin again. Tom was somewhere Harry didn’t recognize, a bit younger than the previous time Harry had visited him, and he was crouched in the grass, talking to a snake. Harry wrote the conversation down in his journal, but it was boring and he still doesn’t understand what information he’s supposed to get from that.

When he enters his room with a promise to keep quiet and stay out of sight, there’s a creature sitting on his bed, wearing what looks like a thin, dirty pillowcase.

“Er. Hello,” Harry says, taking great care to close the door behind him.

“Mister Harry Potter, it is a great honour." Then, if possible, the creature's tennis ball sized eyes get even larger. "Oh, Master Harry! It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, sir...And you is so young, sir…”

“T-thank you. I, er. Who are you?” Harry’s never seen anyone like this in his life, let alone met this exact creature before, but he supposes it’s not too much of a stretch to say that his older self has met them while time traveling. He supposes he should get used to it.

“Oh, of course, sir! I is Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house elf.”

“Oh. Really? Er, I don’t want to be rude or anything, but- this isn’t a great time for me to have a house elf in my bedroom.”

“Of course, sir. Dobby understands. It’s just that, Dobby has come to tell you… it is difficult to know where to begin.”

“Why don’t you sit down?” Harry asks. He’s at a bit of a loss as to where to begin himself.

“S-sit down?” Dobby whispers. “Sit down?” Dobby turns away from Harry, sobbing so loudly that everyone downstairs must hear it.

“Dobby, shh, I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”

“Offend Dobby?” Dobby says, turning around with glistening eyes. “Dobby thought that Master Harry was kind when Dobby first met Master Harry but never has Dobby been asked to sit down by a wizard.”

_How awful_ , Harry thinks, feeling a sudden kinship with the house elf. The feeling lasts throughout Dobby’s whole explanation, even when Dobby bangs their head against Harry’s dresser and hits themself with Harry’s lamp.

Even when Uncle Vernon comes stomping upstairs to yell at him for making noise and to warn him not to make another sound.

But things just get worse from there. Dobby declares that unless Harry says he’ll stay with the Dursleys this year, Dobby won’t give him the letters he’s been keeping from Harry. And as if that all wasn’t bad enough, when Harry doesn’t agree, Dobby pushes Aunt Petunia’s pudding off the counter and gets Harry in more trouble than he can bear to think about.

He shakes the whole time as he cleans up the glass shards and globs of pudding. He shakes even more as he reads the warning that if he practices any other magic he’ll be expelled from Hogwarts. He shakes until he falls asleep, knowing he's locked inside his bedroom until they send him off to Hogwarts. If he survives that long.

\---

_5 August, 1992. Ron's Room, The Burrow._

"This is the best house I've ever been to," Harry tells Ron, looking around his friend's bedroom. He arrived at the Burrow early that morning when Ron, Fred, and George rescued him from his barred up room in their father’s flying car, and Mrs. Weasley has just let them go upstairs after spending the morning de-gnoming the garden.

Ron has been looking tense, waiting for Harry’s assessment of his home, but at Harry’s statement, his shoulders relax and his ears turn pink.

Harry has an entirely different concern on his mind. "Will it, er, will it be okay if I, y'know, travel while I'm here? Your dad works for the Ministry, and Dumbledore told me to keep it a secret..." He doesn't add how scary Mrs. Weasley is when she's yelling.

"Nah, Dad'll be fine," Ron says. "You've seen how he is with his work. Though I s'pose we should tell Mum at least, in case you disappear during dinner and she worries."

"Right," Harry says, squaring his shoulders.

"Not now, obviously, she's still yelling at Dad about the car. It’ll be best to talk to her right after dinner."

"Right." Harry relaxes and listens to Ron talk about the Chudley Cannons, pointing at the colourful moving posters lining his walls.

Dinner is excellent, but Harry can only stomach one serving before declaring himself full. He and Ron stay back as everyone disperses again, and Harry still doesn’t know what to say. He's only ever shown people his ability before, and answered their questions after. What if she doesn't believe him? What if she sends him off to hospital?

“Do you want any help cleaning up?” he asks.

“Oh!” Mrs. Weasley exclaims, turning around from where she’s levitating the dirty dishes. “No, of course not, dear. You can go off and play Gobstones with the others if you’d like.”

“Actually, Mum,” Ron says. “Harry and I wanted to talk to you.”

“Alright, let me just get these started then,” she says, and with a flick of her wand, the dishes start washing themselves. With another flick, three mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits soar to the table in front of Ron and Harry. “Sit, sit!”

“Now, what did you boys want to talk about?” she asks kindly, pushing the biscuits towards Harry.

“We, er,” Ron starts, but Harry cuts him off in a bout of bravery.

“I can time travel. Without a time turner.”

Mrs. Weasley blinks at him. Her mouth opens and then shuts.

“We found out last term, but he's been doing it for ages,” Ron explains. “He doesn’t have any way to control it, and we didn’t want to worry you if he disappeared during breakfast or something."

"Oh," Mrs. Weasley says faintly, and takes a long sip of her tea. Her expression seems to change every second, as if the tea is made from Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans instead of tea leaves, and the flavour keeps changing from dirt to apple to black pepper. 

Harry darts a worried look at Ron, who's eyeing his mum closely as he chews a biscuit. 

"Right," Mrs. Weasley finally announces, setting her tea down with a clank, and glances over to the family clock. "I'm just going to get Dad to come back down, he's more of a mind for this than I do." 

"No!" Harry exclaims. "I--Dumbledore told me not to tell anyone about it, not even Ron and Hermione. But we thought, in case I need to travel while I'm staying here..."

Mrs. Weasley fixes sharp eyes on Harry. "So Dumbledore's been helping you?"

Harry can only nod.

"Good, good. I'm sure Dumbledore knows best. But you should know that you can always talk to me about this, or anything else, alright? It won’t go any further than me, or Mr. Weasley if you'll permit it.”

Harry nods again. "As long as Professor Dumbledore doesn't know I told you." He doesn't fancy angering the one person who could help him control his power.

“Now.” Mrs. Weasley takes another sip of her tea. “Are you safe when you travel? You’re so young…”

“He’ll be fine, Mum,” Ron says, and gives Harry a reassuring smile. 

\---

_August 31, 1992. Malfoy Manor._

One of the house elves appears in Draco’s room as he's checking over his trunk again. There will be no time to check again before they leave tomorrow morning. 

"Master Lucius is asking for Master Draco in his study," the elf tells him. 

Draco nods. He expects it will be the same speech he received last year: _You are a Malfoy. The honour of our name rests on your shoulders. I expect to see top marks from you this year, and to hear of your cultivating important friends._

He knows he did not live up to his father's expectations last year. Granger took top marks in their year, Potter refused his friendship and made the quidditch team while Draco wasn't even allowed to try out. Draco did lead the Slytherins in his year, but that was hardly impressive; he's ruled over most of them since they were babies. 

"Come in," his father says when he knocks. "Ah, Draco. Are you packed for tomorrow?"

"Yes, father."

"Good, good. Now, I wanted to discuss the upcoming school year. I have taken the liberty of generously donating Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for the Slytherin team, so you should have no problem obtaining a spot this year. I anticipate that your grades will not suffer while you are on the team."

"Of course not, Father," Draco hurries to assure, looking his father dead in the eye as stoically as he can. 

"Good. I expect you to take top marks this year. Events have been put into motion regarding the...education of mudbloods at Hogwarts, and that pesky girl will be taken care of along with the rest. You are, of course, unaware of such measures, isn’t that right, Draco?” 

His father’s eyes pierce his, and he attempts Occlumency as he was taught. “Yes, Father.” He feels a warm glow of pride when his father simply nods and turns back to his desk, dismissing him. If he'd failed he would have heard about it until they arrived at King's Cross, but now he can spend his evening relaxing instead.

\---

_26 September, 1992. Empty Classroom, Hogwarts._

It’s a week after Hermione’s birthday and cold rain is falling in sheets outside. Harry has quidditch practice later, but for now he’s happy to be curled up in a corner of an empty classroom with Ron and Hermione. For once Hermione’s not on Harry and Ron to finish their homework or revise for exams, probably because she has something else on her mind. 

“So this is what you were wearing the three times you successfully traveled with all of your belongings?” 

Harry nods as she pokes and prods at his jumpers, pants, trousers, socks, trainers, belts, pajamas, and robes. He had tried to bury his pants at the bottom of the pile, but Hermione is looking at his clothes like a particularly difficult wand movement and has spread them out for closer examination.

“There has to be a clue somewhere,” she mutters, levitating various articles of clothing and spinning them around.

“What do you expect to find from clothes? I reckon the clue is Harry himself,” Ron says from his position on the ground, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Oh yes, very helpful--” she snaps, but then pauses, clearly thinking. 

Ron raises his head. “You were saying?”

“Harry,” Hermione says, ignoring Ron and his smirk. “Harry, how were you wearing these clothes? Was there anything different about how you wore them?” 

“I was just wearing them like normal. Oh, except that first time, I put my laces around my ankles. It was one of the possibilities Dumbledore told me. But I didn’t do that the second time.” 

“We just need to figure out what about that configuration allowed you to travel with your clothes. Oh, and maybe compare the two. Something about circles...oh, I wish there were more books about this subject. Maybe because you’re in a time...loop? Okay.” She moves on to the second outfit, eyeing it critically. “You really need to get clothes that fit, Harry. These jeans look like they could fit two of you.” 

“That’s why I have the belt.” 

“The belt,” she repeats slowly. “The belt! There’s your other circular object!”

“But Harry wears a belt all the time,” Ron points out. “So I think he wouldn’t even have this issue if the belt was the key.”

“It’s a huge belt too,” Hermione says, putting it around her own waist. “Chances are none of the belt holes fit you properly, is that right? You’ll just have to note how you’re wearing your belt from now on. As circular as possible, to start. We can take it from there. Nothing else here has any circles. Except maybe the socks. Harry, most of these have giant holes in them!”

“Are we done criticizing my clothes, then?” Harry asks, suddenly very done with this whole thing. It’s not his fault his family hates him. It’s not his fault he’s ‘foreign-looking’ or a wizard, or that he only gets Dudley’s hand-me-downs. It’s just how life is, and he’s come to love Hogwarts for how far away it is from the Dursleys in all senses of the word. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to criticize them Harry.”

“Least they’re not charmed holes,” Ron says brightly. “One year Fred and George charmed a few pairs of my socks to grow bigger and bigger holes the closer it got to Christmas so mum would have to buy me new ones as a present.”

\---

_31 October, 1992. First Floor Corridor, Hogwarts._

Somehow, despite the surprise of Dobby and being blocked from Platform 9 ¾ and crashing Mr. Weasley’s Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow, Harry forgets that his time traveling ability doesn’t show him clues to everything important that’s going to happen. 

Which is why when he hears the voice whispering murderously again and follows it to the first floor corridor, he's shocked into the reminder that his ability only allows him glimpses of things that might not even matter for years, if ever. 

Mrs. Norris is hanging, incredibly still, there is a pool of standing water beneath her, and there is writing on the wall, in blood: THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR...BEWARE. And worst of all, Harry and his friends are standing there staring at it when what seems like half the student body finds them after the feast.

\---

Draco is having a great term. He's an accepted member of the Slytherin quidditch team, thanks to his father's donation of Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for everyone. He's top of his house in coursework, Crabbe and Goyle beat up anyone he tells them to, and Mother sends him boxes of sweets every week. 

If there are some less pleasant thoughts floating around his brain, that's purely his business. For the most part, he can push them back and tell himself that he's not even thinking them. It works for the most part until he comes across a scene that brings them all forward painfully. 

The mass of students has stopped, and he pushes to the front to find out what's wrong. It's Potter and his best friends, of course. In the other timeline, Harry's best friend is Draco, and he wishes yet again that things hadn't been messed up at the beginning of first year. The rest of the scene is even more disturbing than Weasley and Granger, though, and he's suddenly glad his father warned him that something would happen this year. He'll be fine, he reassures himself. It's the mudbloods that have to worry.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware!” He reads out loud. “You'll be next, mudbloods!"

\---

_17 December, 1992. Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts._

Harry looks up at Ron and Hermione. Both of them look as if someone has died, and he doesn't understand; he just told the snake not to hurt Justin, and it listened. 

"So you're a Parselmouth," Ron says. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"I'm a _what? "_

"A Parselmouth!" Ron says. "You can talk to snakes!"

"I know," Harry says mildly. "I mean, it's only the second time I've done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley -long story- but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without realising it -that was before I knew I was a wizard-"

"A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?" Ron repeats faintly. 

"So? I bet a lot of people can do it. I traveled to a boy over the summer who talked to his garden snake."

"It's very uncommon," Ron tells him, shaking his head. "This is bad, Harry, very bad."

"Why is it so bad?" Harry demands. "What is wrong with talking to snakes? Listen, if I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin-"

"Oh is that what you said?"

"What d'you mean? You were there, you heard me."

Ron shakes his head. "I heard you speak Parseltongue. Sounded like ssSssSSSS. Looked like you were egging the snake on, mate, no wonder Justin looked terrified."

"I spoke another language!?" Harry exclaims. "But- how could I speak a whole other language without knowing I speak it? And why does it matter anyway if I was the one who stopped Justin from joining the Headless Hunt?"

"It matters," Hermione says, "because being able to speak to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. It's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent."

Harry's jaw drops. 

"Exactly," Ron chimes in. "And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson or something-"

"But I'm not!"

"It will be very hard to prove," Hermione says. "He lived thousands of years ago; for all we know, you could be."

Harry's stomach turns over. "I'm going to bed," he tells his friends, but he lays awake even after all of his roommates fall asleep. 

Could he really be a descendant of Slytherin? He doesn't know anything about his father's family, and he hasn't traveled to his family at all, at least that he remembers. 

He wishes he was just a normal wizard. Not only is he a famous orphan who somehow defeated an evil tyrant, his scar and his skin color marks him as different even in the muggle world. And now he's hearing voices no one else can and speaking a mysterious language no one else at school seems to be able to.

He tries to whisper a word in Parseltongue but it doesn't come. He guesses he has to be in front of a snake for it to work. 

He pulls out the journal Hermione gave him last year for Christmas and flips through until he finds the entry he's looking for. He had annotated it since the discussion a few months ago about keeping his belongings as he traveled, so now it reads:

> _10/7/92, Bedroom at Dursley’s. Cloak. Kept clothes I had - pj’s,_ _no circles, no shoes_
> 
> _Orphanage by the sea. Very cold. Slytherin Tom, about my age. Summer hols? Conversation with snake in garden:_
> 
> _Tom- You’re very beautiful. Lovely scales._
> 
> _Snake- Thank you._
> 
> _T- I bet you're bored in this little garden. Wouldn't it be exciting to bite my friend?_
> 
> _S- I do not bite humans, only mice. Do you have any mice?_
> 
> _T- I'm sure there are some around. Are you sure you don't want a human? I bet she’s very tasty, just like a rat, hahaha._
> 
> _S- No, humans don’t taste like rats. Goodbye_

There it is, as if he needs more proof that he can speak to and understand snakes. _If I had Slytherin blood I would have sorted Slytherin, like Slytherin Tom, wouldn't I?_ he thinks to himself.

_Ah, but the Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin, didn't it?_ a nasty voice in his brain reminds him. 

\---

_18 December, 1992. Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts._

"It’d be great if you could travel to the future and find out who it is," Ron says when they get word that Justin Finch-Fletchley is petrified now too. 

"He's not supposed to change the timeline, Ron," Hermione reminds them, as if they've forgotten the fifty other times she's said that. Well, Harry hasn't at least. It's ingrained in his brain now. 

"But suppose his body just goes there naturally," Ron argues. "What's he supposed to do then, _not_ figure it out? Or he could bring back some mandrakes that are ready for the potion! Might be that one of them saw something and if we can just wake them up they'll tell us what happened!" 

"And what will we do if they don't know anything? What if the people we wake up are attacked again, and this time they're killed? You heard Binns, a girl _died_ last time the chamber was opened!"

"There's no point arguing about it now," Harry points out. "I can't control when or where I travel to, and it's hard enough making sure all my clothes come with me. Though there's a chance I could find out who the Heir of Slytherin is."

Hermione sighs. "Honestly, it's like last term never happened. We all thought it was Professor Snape who was trying to get the Stone when it was actually Professor Quirrel, all because that was what we saw. We need concrete evidence before we accuse anyone. You both need to keep that in mind, especially you, Harry. Anyway, the Polyjuice Potion will be ready soon and we’ll be able to question the Slytherins and find out if it's Malfoy.”

\---

_25 December, 1992. Entrance to the Slytherin Common Room, Hogwarts._

Despite himself, Draco is getting a little worried about Crabbe and Goyle. They left the feast ages ago but they hadn’t been anywhere in the Slytherin dungeons, or any of their usual haunts when he’d gone out to look for them. He decides to circle back to check the Common Room again, and breathes a silent sigh of relief and a loud sigh of exasperation when he finds them near the entrance with what looks like a prefect. A Gryffindor prefect. Trust the two of them to find themselves in a situation like this. 

"There you are," he drawls, trying not to sound as if he just spent twenty minutes looking for them. "Have you two been pigging out in the Great Hall this whole time? I've been looking for you; I want to show you something really funny." Speaking of that newspaper clipping his father just sent him… "And what are you doing down here, Weasley?"

Predictably, Weasley puffs up and forgets whatever reason he had for confronting Vince and Greg. "You should show more respect to a school prefect! I don't like your attitude!" 

Draco brushes him off and turns to lead his friends back to the common room, but stops when he gets a better look at Goyle's face. "Are you wearing _glasses_?" They remind him somehow of Harry's and he does not want to be reminded again of the other timeline in which he and Harry are friends. Somehow his mouth keeps talking as his thoughts go down a gnome hole, and he stupidly adds, "I didn't know you could read." 

Thankfully, no one present comments on it, and he leads his friends back to the common room to show them the hilarious clipping of Arthur Weasley and discuss the Heir of Slytherin. 

\---

_27 February, 1993. Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts._

Harry sits back, Tom Riddle’s diary still open in front of him. He feels distinctly odd, and not just from traveling into the past via a book. Slytherin Tom, a parselmouth who had been praised for saving Hogwarts, is the Tom who owned this diary. And the service he did was turning Hagrid in for opening the Chamber of Secrets! 

He doesn't want to believe it, but he knows Hagrid was expelled, and he's seen how Hagrid is with dangerous animals. Just last year, he hatched a baby dragon in his hut! If he found out about the monster in the Chamber, Harry could see him finding a way to free it, even if it was considered extremely dangerous. 

He quickly writes out a 'thank you' to Tom and goes off to find Ron and Hermione to tell them what he's found out and see what they can do about it. 

\---

_8 May, 1993. Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts._

Harry feels lost, sitting amongst all the other Gryffindors, stuck in their common room. Hermione's been Petrified and he has no idea how they're going to solve this without her. She’s the smart one, after all. If he and Ron can’t stop the monster soon, it will Petrify and even kill other muggleborns, and the school will have to shut down. 

"What are we going to do?" Ron whispers to him, giving voice to Harry’s thoughts.

"Think up a new plan," he whispers back. "C'mon upstairs, I just got an idea. What if I try to travel to the future to get either the name of the Heir or mandrake roots? It's what you thought of before, but we never tried." 

"Okay. What d'you need me to do?" Ron asks when they're sure they're alone in the dorm.

Harry goes to his chest and pulls out a ratty t-shirt and pair of jeans, throwing them to Ron. "We're going to try the circle thing Hermione was talking about. Can you draw a bunch of circles on these?"

While Ron does that, he sorts through his socks for the ones with the most circular holes and practices tying his belt in various configurations, checking each one in the mirror to see how circular it looks.

When he's fully dressed, he winces at his reflection. There are various sized circles drawn on his t-shirt and jeans in one of Dean's marker's, his laces are tied around his ankles, his belt is twisted and tucked into his jeans the way he wore it at least one of the times it traveled with him.

"Are you sure you don't want to try something else, dear?" the mirror asks. " _Anything_ else?"

"This is as good as it's going to get, I guess," Harry tells Ron, ignoring the mirror. It has never liked any of his clothes anyway. He grabs his invisibility cloak and stands before Ron in another hand-drawn circle, concentrating hard.

He pictures the corridor where they found Mrs. Norris, an unknown student facing away from him as they write the message. When that doesn't work, he tries picturing the Herbology Greenhouse where Professor Sprout is tending to the growing mandrakes. That doesn’t work either.

After some time, he hears Ron shift. "You still there, mate?"

"Yeah, I'm still here.” He takes off the cloak. “It’s not working. I think we have to go visit Hagrid and ask him how he called the creature last time.”

By the end of the night, they've lost even more people: Hagrid is being sent to Azkaban and Dumbledore is no longer Headmaster. And they're no closer to getting Hermione back or figuring out who the Heir is.

\---

_16 May, 1993. Courtyard, Hogwarts._

Harry and Ron are on their way to Herbology when Harry feels the familiar itching spreading across his chest. He drags Ron into an alcove so that Professor McGonagall, who's escorting their class, won't notice them stopping right away, and pulls his invisibility cloak from his school bag. 

"It's happening," he tells Ron excitedly, throwing the cloak over his shoulders and grabbing his wand from his back pocket. His hands have already begun to feel too large and too small, and his heart is beating fast. 

Ron's eyes are wide as he stares at Harry's floating head. "What-it's happening? Have you got the circles?" 

"Yes," Harry responds, pulling the cloak over his head. He's been dressing with his tennis laces tied around his ankles and his hand-drawn circle shirt under his uniform every day for the past week. "Cover for me at-?" is as far as he gets before everything goes black for a moment.

\---

_6 July,1979. Daedalus Diggle's House, Kent._

Harry arrives somewhere warm and loud. He's lucky to have landed (appeared?) in an empty space, as the room is packed with unfamiliar people. He hurries to a corner to make sure no one bumps into him, then takes stock. He's got both shoes on and his wand still in his hand, but his tie and school robes are missing. He's not overly worried, though. He's still under the invisibility cloak and his tie and robes will be back in the alcove with his school bag.

His first thought is that this is a party -someone's birthday or wedding or some holiday- but as he listens to the witch and wizards nearest to him, he realises it's definitely not. 

"Gideon Prewett," one red haired wizard introduces himself, "and my brother Fabian."

"A pleasure," the third wizard of the group says, shaking both of their hands. "Frank Longbottom."

Harry's gasp is thankfully unheard under the general din. That must be Neville's father? Grandfather?

"Alice Longbottom," the witch says. She looks more like Neville than her husband - her blonde hair is even cut like Neville's, and she looks happy. 

"The infamous Aurors," Fabian nods. "It's good to know we have such talent on our side."

"You're no slouches yourselves from what I hear," Mr. Longbottom says. 

Harry looks around the room, trying to get more context. The room is covered in richly coloured flowery wallpaper, complete with bees buzzing from flower to flower against the dark backdrop. There's a fancy, marble fireplace on the wall near him, a low fire burning even though it's very warm in the room. And, there, in the corner, is that-? It looks like Dumbledore! He's talking to some other wizards and witches Harry doesn't recognize. They're all holding drinks, but again it doesn't seem to be a celebration. He remembers the wizards near him talking about "our side." Is this the war with Voldemort before he was born? Another one completely?

Just then, the fireplace turns green and two people exit it. Harry's knees buckle under him and he sinks to the floor, barely aware of the invisibility cloak fluttering around him and keeping him hidden.

Right in front of him, real and _alive,_ are his parents. They look just as they did in the Mirror of Erised; his mum has long red hair, now pulled back in a ponytail, and his dad has the same messy hair Harry has, and they're holding hands. His mum's hair shines against the black robes she wears, and Harry can see the top of a t-shirt under his dad's robes. They look happy, despite this apparently being a war meeting.

Harry's vision blurs and he pushes his glasses up onto his forehead, wiping fruitlessly at his eyes. He could _touch them._ He could hug them, and tell them he loves them, and thank them for everything they've done. He could change the future, the past, make it so that they wouldn't have to die. He could learn what they were really like, and the sheer possibility is extremely painful. 

Behind them, the fireplace flares again and several wizards step out, playfully shoving James and Lily out of the way. Harry pulls his glasses down off his forehead to see them more clearly. He has to pull himself together; this could be important for him to remember. It's possible that they're still alive in Harry's time and can tell him about his parents. 

"Ah, serious," Dumbledore says, and Harry hadn't even realized he had moved from the corner to greet them. "Peter, Remus, James, Lily. Thank you all for joining us. We will be starting soon, feel free to grab a drink and mingle." Dumbledore gestures to a doorway that Harry thinks is probably the kitchen. Harry can't figure out which two of the three wizards Dumbledore greeted by name, but gets distracted by his dad speaking.

"So what, school's out and you don't have to be on time any more Moons?" Harry's dad asks one of the wizards, clapping him on the back. He's thin with wavy brown hair.

"Oh, like you were much earlier," one of the others answers. He's dressed in black muggle clothes, his dark, curly hair almost to his shoulders. "We almost tripped into you when we came through. Bad manners, Jamesy! Wait til I tell mum!" he sing-songs. 

His dad opens his mouth to respond, but his mum elbows him in the side with a grin and gestures towards Dumbledore, who's starting to address everyone. 

Harry glances between his dad and the dark haired man, confused. They share dark hair, but the other man is white and looks nothing like his dad. Was his father adopted? Was this other man? 

Another group of witches and wizards enter the room and block his view of his parents. He searches for a better vantage point where he won't be in danger of being tripped over, but it's difficult. It seems that everyone is gathering in this room to hear Dumbledore's speech, and there are more of them than Harry originally thought. 

"Now that we're all present, I would like to thank each of you personally for being here. As I'm sure you're all aware, the Ministry alone is insufficient in defeating Voldemort. That is why we have come together, Purebloods, Halfbloods, Muggleborns, Squibs," Dumbledore nods at various people around the room, "to defeat him. Everyone should have already received their assignments, but if there are any questions, please let me know. Now, I believe Daedalus would like to take a group photo for posterity." 

"Not only for posterity," a gruff man with a chunk missing from his nose speaks up, "but so that everyone here will know who to trust, and who will be able to lend assistance when necessary." 

"Indeed," Dumbledore agrees. "Thank you Alastor." 

A shorter man with a pointy purple hat who Harry recognises as the man who bowed to him in the grocery last year steps forward. "So if we could all stand against this wall, I think we will all fit in the frame. We can continue to discuss plans later." 

Harry catches a few more glimpses of his parents and their friends, but he keeps having to dodge out of the way to avoid people lining up for the photo. Before he can convince himself to either approach them or not, he feels his skin wrinkling and disappears.

\---

_16 May, 1993. Gryffindor Boys Dormitory, Hogwarts._

There's still time for him to make it back to Herbology before class is over, but Harry feels incredibly drained, and heads back to his dorm instead, still under the invisibility cloak. 

He saw his parents. 

_He saw his parents_. 

Not just in the Mirror, as an illusion, or in the photo album Hagrid gave him. He was there, while they were living. He could have- he _should_ have- who knows when he'll see them again. _If_ he'll ever see them again. 

Harry collapses on his bed, dropping his tie, robes, and school bag on the ground. He half-heartedly twitches his wand to close the curtains around his bed, but can't bring himself to care. His heart is racing like he's just flown straight at the ground and nearly died, and he can't stop crying. 

His mum's laugh is so beautiful. Her eyes sparkled as she elbowed his dad, and if he closes his eyes, Harry can almost imagine those same eyes sparkling down at him as a baby. Except, of course he can't. It's fake, just his imagination. She'll never elbow him when he misbehaves at an event, she'll never tell him she loves him. She'll never hug him when he's feeling like this. 

His dad will never ruffle his hair like Mr. Weasley does to Ron. They'll never go flying together. His dad will never clap him on the back when he sees him. Harry will never see his dad's dark eyes dance when his mum tries to be the responsible one, or the dimple when he grins at Harry for doing something well. 

"Harry? _Harry!_ _"_ Ron's suddenly by his side, shaking him. 

Harry stares up at his friend blearily. His glasses are...somewhere, but Ron's close enough that he can see him fairly clearly. 

"Thank Merlin," Ron breathes. "I thought you'd gotten attacked. But-" He seems to realise that Harry's been crying, and his face grows pale. "What's- What did you see?"

"My-" Harry's voice cracks. "My parents," he whispers, and he can feel the tears starting up again. He turns away. "I'm sorry I didn't find anything out," he mumbles into his pillow. 

"Oh bollocks," Ron says from behind him. "That's- I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault."

"Can I...can I hug you? At home when someone's sad we kind of, lay on top of them?" Ron says. "Or d'you want to be alone? I wish 'Mione were here," he adds, almost to himself. 

Harry takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm down. "Me too. C'mere." He pats the other side of his bed. 

Ron gets in, and immediately leaps up in pain. "What the-?" He pulls up Harry's glasses, and tosses them at Harry, who's trying not to laugh. "It's not funny," Ron protests with a grin, making a big deal about rubbing his back. "You could kill a man with those!" 

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry tells him, wiping his eyes before putting his glasses back on. He feels a little better already. "What did I miss in Herbology?"

"Well," Ron starts, and goes off on a story about the satisfaction of watching everyone Incendio slugs after what happened in the fall.

\---

_29 May, 1993. Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts._

Down the long stretch of watery tunnel, Harry can see a small body lying prone, red hair splayed out. He runs toward it, flinging his wand aside to check that Ginny is still alive. 

“Oh, Ginny, please don’t be dead. Wake up! Please wake up.”

“She won’t wake,” a voice says from a dark corner. 

Harry looks up and sees Tom Riddle, from his time travel and the diary, walking towards him. For a second his mind is blank- did he travel without realising it? But no, Tom was this old fifty years ago, and Ginny was this old days ago. Something else is going on.

“What do you mean she won’t wake?” he asks when he finally parses Tom’s words. “She’s not--”

“She’s still alive, but only just.” Tom moves forward, his feet barely making any sound on the wet stone, something shimmery about him as Harry looks at him.

“Are you a ghost?"

“A memory, preserved in a diary for fifty years.” Tom gestures towards the familiar diary, a few feet off.

This mystery solved, Harry turns back to Ginny, trying to lift her up. “She’s cold as ice, you have to help me Tom, there’s a basilisk around here somewhere, we have to go--” He reaches for his wand, but it's not there. When he looks up, Tom is playing with it. 

"Thanks," he tells him, reaching a hand out for it. 

But Tom just stares at him, his mouth twisting into a slight smile. 

"Listen, Tom, we have to go, if the basilisk comes--"

“It won’t come until it’s called,” Tom interrupts, and a shiver goes down Harry's spine. 

“What? Come on Tom,” he says, abandoning his attempt at lifting Ginny on his own and stepping towards the taller boy urgently. “I might need it, we’ve got to get out of here!” 

"You won't be needing it," Tom says extremely calmly. "I've been waiting a long time to talk to you, Harry Potter."

"I don't think you get it. Were in the Chamber of Secrets, we can talk once we get out of here."

Inexplicably, this makes Tom grin. "We will talk now." 

So Harry listens in horror as Tom explains how _Ginny_ had been the one to open the Chamber of Secrets, put under a trance by Tom. Harry realises that Tom had framed Hagrid all along, it hadn't just been a mistake. And Tom, he's no longer the charming boy who talked to the garden snake, nor the one who was -or pretended to be- humble in accepting praise in saving the school. No, this Tom has a chilling laugh, and calls Ginny stupid, and has manipulated all of them, except apparently Dumbledore. 

And this Tom wants to kill him. This Tom is a younger Lord Voldemort. 

\---

_31 May, 1993. Great Hall, Hogwarts._

Harry is sitting down to dinner with Ron when Hermione comes in. Madam Pomfrey administered the mandrake juice the night of the Chamber of Secrets, and it had taken her a few days to recover and regain her health. Harry and Ron had gone to see her, but had been shooed out of the room after being told that she was unpetrified and recovering, and haven't heard anything since. 

"Welcome back, Hermione," Ron says. 

"It's good to be back. Congratulations, I can't believe you solved it! Did your ability help at all, Harry?"

"No, not so helpful, that," Harry says. "I'll tell you about it later. We had loads of help from you, actually. Couldn't have done it without you."

"Thanks. I'm sorry I missed it." 

"You're just lucky you didn't have to see those giant spiders Hagrid has in the Forbidden Forest," Ron says. 

"There's so much to catch up on," Hermione says, breathless. "I can't believe exams are only a week away."

She doesn't look nearly as excited when Professor Dumbledore declares all end-of-term exams are cancelled not a minute later.

\---

_11 June, 1993. Malfoy Manor._

"Dobby," Draco calls out when he retires to his room after his first dinner with his parents after the end of term. 

Dobby doesn't appear. 

"Dobby," he says again. "You're _supposed_ to come when you're called." 

Another elf apparates in front of him with the characteristic loud crack. "Dobby is not being here, Master Draco," she says. 

"What?" 

"Master is being tricked into freeing Dobby," she explains. "Mipsy is taking care of Master Draco now." 

"Oh," he says, wrongfooted. "When did that happen?" 

"A week ago, sir. When Master is going to Hogwarts, sir. Dobby is not returning with him. Master is angry at Harry Potter." 

"Potter...is responsible for Dobby's freedom?"

Draco remembers the oddity of Harry shaking Dobby's hand when they first met all those years ago, and wonders if it meant something he didn't realise at the time. But even if they were the same person, Potter wouldn't know what Harry did, being that much younger. He sighs, letting it go. Just another mystery to add to the others. 


End file.
